Red vs Blue: The Freelancer Archives Season One
by Visasmasterjedi
Summary: Long before the misadventures of the Blood Gulch Simulation Troopers there was a military program; a program that started it all. - This is the first season of a five season series set to introduce and explore the military history behind Project Freelancer, and all of its agents.
1. TFA: Season One 'Pray Trailer'

Director Leonard Church looked down at the Magnum in his hand. He knew what was right and what he had to do, but he wondered how it had come to this and why. His vision blurred as he looked around the room. It's darkness in contrast with the bright lights of the recording in front of him had begun messing with his sight.

He cocked the handgun trying to remember if there was something he missed, if there was something he could have done so that it worked.

It was obsession, that led to the failures. It was obsession that slowly tore his memory of her apart until she nothing more than a shadow. He loved her, but it was not enough. All he could remember of Allison was that she died, that she was a failure. Now he could finally be together with her again, together in paradise.

**…****Many years earlier**

She leant forward over the seat and paid the cab driver thirty dollars. He gave a quick nod before looking back at the map on the shuttle dashboard. Politely she turned towards the back seat door and exited. For the first time in years she noticed the height of the tower as the blood rushed to her head.

Club Errera was situated atop one of the tallest towers in Reach's capital New Alexandria. She heard the song _Pray_ playing within the club. It reminded her of the sparring she used to do with her father when she was younger.

Behind her flowed blue tassels off and over her black skirt. A sleeveless white corset wrapped around her upper body as she approached the club entrance. The muffled music vibrated the floor beneath her boot high-heels. As the door opened the loud music filled her ears.

This hadn't been her first time inside the club. In the past her and her friends had gone there to pick up. But she was always disinterested. Today she felt different though, tonight she was angry and tonight she was ready. She had tied her long red hair into a ponytail behind her head as she entered the club.

The club was dark, with the exception of the flashing neon lights. Arrays of reds, blues, greens and yellows lit the room dramatically. The blinding white of strobe lights encouraging the dancers to lose their minds.

Dance like this is your last night on Earth. It was an old saying she used to hear, she figured it was old because she hadn't been to Earth in years. She'd left her father there a few months earlier and moving out decided to live in the city. Moving to the paradise world of Reach was the best decision she'd ever made.

She pushed through the crowds, not happy nor sad. She'd start by the bar. A woman with a drink in their hand would likely be approached in an instant by a determined guy. If a girl was in her twenties, which she was, it was supposedly impossible to not hook up at Errera.

As she weaved through the scores of people she looked up, the floor above held the VIPs and officials of the club. There the DJ played his beats to the best of his ability. She recognized him from the last time she'd been to Errera. They called him 'The Animal' or something just as stupid. She looked at him and nodded, half expecting him to nod back.

She tugged on the leather glove on her right hand. She was nervous, in the past she'd never tried to find a guy. She'd entered the club excited but unaware of whether or not she was looking for a man to settle down with or a boy to spend a night with.

Reach was once hit by the aliens during the first Covenant war. Club Errera was one of the buildings to be destroyed. Since the second Covenant war, Reach had not been hit. Reach was one of the heaviest protected planets under the UNSC defence committee. There was never any fear that the colony world would fall again.

Stepping out of the dancing crowds she saw the bar. It was almost completely empty with the exception of one guy, about her age, sitting alone. He wore a short sleeved straight black shirt. For a moment she considered socializing but panicked upon considering that she might not actually be appropriately dressed.

By this stage her friends would have awkwardly pushed her into the guy's arms in order to introduce them. This would, in theory, stop her from chickening out. It didn't. Her friends weren't here anymore. She stared at him a moment longer, he was definitely alone.

She strode over towards the bar, eyeing the seat. She next wondered whether it would be someone she knew. Then again, there were two reasons why that was a load of crap. One, she didn't know anyone on Reach. Two, she didn't know any boys…anywhere.

She seated herself on the bar stool and patiently waited for the bartender to make his way to her. She saw that the boy next to her was sipping lightly on a reddish drink, similar in appearance to what she liked to order.

The bartender was a tall bald man, similar to what you'd expect a bouncer to look like. He approached her, wiping the bar with a dry towel as he dead.

'What can I getcha?' he asked.

'Scotch with raspberry.' She replied.

'Ah, so a Ballet Breakup.'

'You know that drink?' she asked, surprised.

'They don't call Reach the paradise planet for nothing now, so they.' He smiled before turning to the taps behind him

He poured a bottle of scotch into a small glass before squirting a tube of red fluid from a bar hose into the drink. A short few seconds later she received her drink. He slid it across the bar a few centimeters and she caught it, just like it happened in the old Western movies.

'Enjoy.' He said before turning away.

She looked down at the drink. As appealing as it looked, it wasn't as perfect as she had seen on other worlds. Out of her peripheral vision she saw the boy, he was staring at her. Embarrassed and confronted she turned to him.

'Can I help you?' she confronted him.

'Yeah. Would it be cheesy of me to offer that to go on my tab?' he asked.

The boy was charming, she could give him that. He was wearing denim jeans and leather shoes. He seemed a lot more broad shouldered than she had seen from behind. From the front she recognized that he had short brown hair, spiked at the fringe.

'Not in the slightest.' She replied.

We waved to the barman casually before pointing at both the girl's drink and then to him. The barman then gave an understanding nod. She was flattered, usually she would be quite aggressive and try to scare the first guy off. This was different.

'So I notice you're drinking a scotch and raspberry.' He began.

'Why yes I am.'

'So am I.' he said, smiling cheekily.

'So?' she asked, playing him for a better response.

He was silent, desperately trying to search for words to say, but none came to him. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked his lower lip before biting on it. He was lost. She had played him and won.

'Shit.' He said suddenly, defeated.

'Nice attempt at a pick up line.' She joked to him before looking back at her drink.

She sipped the 'ballet breakup' once and then again. The scotch burned the back of her throat, but cleared away her sins all the same.

The boy said nothing, he was defeated and sulking in his chair. He was hunched and it was clear to see that she'd bothered him. She thought for a moment and wondered whether she would apologize. But she didn't, why should she?

'You wouldn't happen to have a lighter on you, would you?' he spoke, finally.

As a matter of fact she did. She reached into her corset and pulled out a lighter. It was one branded 'Club Errera' which she'd received on her first visit. She showed it to him and his eyes lit up like a child discovering Christmas for the first time.

'Oh, cheers.' He said excitedly.

He held out his hand for her, hoping she would place the lighter in it. She didn't. Instead she was distracted by spectacle behind her. It was 'rain o'clock' in the club. For an hour every weekend the fire sprinklers on the roof would release water onto the dance floor. This was that hour.

Behind them guys and girls lost themselves in the adrenaline of passion. As they dance the rapid strobe lights reflected off the sweat soaked bodies of the clubbers. As they moved the droplets from the roof bounced off floor, with each stamp of a foot puddles splashed about the room. The lower level roof over the bar stopped the water from hitting the patrons, and small holes the size of skin pores were supposedly layered in the floors to drain the water during the day when the club was closed down.

She turned to the boy at her left. He was looking at her, and she realised she'd forgotten to give him the Club Errera branded lighter. She flicked the thing to him and he caught it with ease. He pulled out a cigarette from his denim pants pocket and began to light it up.

'Hey you!' the bartender called. 'You're not allowed to smoke in here.'

He was confused, as if the bartender was speaking another language. After a good long ten seconds he put the cigarette back into the box in his pocket and flicked it back at her.

'Thanks' he said to her, despite not being able to use it.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be, it's not your fault THE BARTENDER'S AN ASS!' he raised his voice.

The Bartender ignored him.

'So what brings you to Reach?' he asked her.

'What makes you say I'm not local?'

'Well you're dressed up and you're carrying around an Errera lighter.'

'So wouldn't that mean I've been here before?' she asked, confused.

'Yes, but not all the time. If you were here all the time you wouldn't be carrying a tourist lighter on yourself.'

'Maybe so.' She smiled. 'But if I was here all the time I would know that smoking isn't allowed.'

'I don't smoke.' The boy replied.

She was confused. Not seconds earlier she had seen him pull out a cigarette to light with her lighter.

'But you—'

'I don't smoke much.' He corrected.

She rolled her eyes. The two were getting along quite well. She was actually quite surprised, he was quite charming. He actually had looked like quite a jerk when she moved towards the bar before.

'You didn't answer my question.' He said.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'What brings you to Reach?' he reminded her.

'Trying to escape an utterly shit life.' She laughed. He did too. 'You here with anyone?'

'Me? Nope. I'm a bit of a loner. Most of my friends have gone to fight in the war.'

'Too scared?' she provoked.

'No, but the aliens should be when they see me coming. I have signed up but I'm waiting for them to approve my forms.' He looked down at his drink.

'You look worried.'

'Nah, just…' he took a swig of the scotch. 'It doesn't look likely that I'll get in. I've got a criminal history. I own an apartment but no keys to it. So I lockpick.'

She laughed, predicting where the story was going to go.

'I got arrested for breaking into my own home.' He concluded. 'They let me out, but it's still on my official record.'

The bartender walked past the two again and refilled both of their drinks before winking at her. She felt slightly disgusted, before she probably would have been flattered but something was different now. When she turned to the guy she could see pure jealousy. He parted his hair briefly with his hand as he stared at the bartender.

'So what music do you like?' she asked, desperate to make conversation.

'This.' He said, pointing up to an invisible spot above him.

'Pray? Oh god, I love this song.'

'Same, it's freaking beautiful.'

Sure, beautiful is a word for it.'

He leant forward and looked toward the upper levels of the club, hoping to catch the lyrics of the song. She sat back and closing her eyes, did the same.

The beats bounced across the building's walls and reverberated through all the patrons. Reverberating through her chest it became as familiar as her own heartbeat. It made sense, because her heart was racing. The beats and music were lyrical in time with the lighting display.

She turned to her new found friend who was not even paying attention to what was going on behind him. Either he really was a local, or he was a zombie.

'Evening, ma'am.' Came a voice from behind her.

She turned to see who it was but found no one. She looked back at her friend only to find that the man who had spoken to her had wedged himself between the two. He was a pig, bald (like the bartender) with an overgrown moustache.

'Hi.'

'Whatcha drinking?' he asked.

'Scotch and raspberry.'

After a few seconds he snorted and burst out laughing. That's when she realised that the man had two other friends that _were_ behind her. They too were laughing aloud.

'What's so funny?' she asked, slightly pissed off.

'Scotch? Ain't that a bit strong for a lady?'

'Excuse me?' she said, offended. 'What the hell do you know about ladies?'

'Enough to get me laid. So, you up for it?'

'No!' she spat. 'Never, not with you!'

She sat forward and continued drinking her drink. She could almost imagine that the man was pissed off, looking at the table in shock. Instead she heard laughter from past him, from the guy she had been talking to.

'What's so funny?' the man said turning towards him.

'Oh, nothing.' He said, pretending to hold in the laughter before bursting out again.

'I said, what's funny?'

'It's just- it's just the thought of a dickhead, such as yourself, thinking you have a chance with such a girl as this.'

'What?'

'Didn't hear me? Or are you deaf as well as stupid.' He chuckled.

The man bashed his fist against the bar as the bartender turned away. She jumped at the sound of the thud.

'Now I'm going to pretend you're just gonna shut your face. I also suggest that you fuck off…'

Again the bald man turned his attention to her. He sniffed, the snot dribbling from his nostrils being sucked back up as he did.

'Now, listen lady. I'm gonna give you one chance to open your legs before I force you too.' He said, angrily.

She turned to him, fists clenched. She would have hit him too if it weren't for the interruption. Her friend stood up and pulled on the man's shoulders. He quickly turned and swung his right fist launching it straight at the guy's jaw.

Her friend fell down out of sight before the man reached out at her. So next she delivered a blow. It was a punch that shattered his jaw, some of the combat she'd gained had begun to surface. He fell to his knees but collapsed on a stool, using it to pull himself to his feet.

'You're gonna regret that, you son of a bi—'

Her friend had stood up, his glass of scotch now shattered over the man's head. Scotch and blood combined and swirled around the shards of glass slicing into his head.

In a second the man's two friends were onto her protector (not that she needed a protector). One held him back, pinning his arms behind him. The other swinging a punch.

The flashing of the lights in time with the music provided the perfect cover. In an instance of darkness her friend ducked. The blow landed into his suppressor's temple. Two men were collapsed on the ground, the final was then knocked down when she kicked him. The heel of her leather shoe crushing a small section of his spine. All three were on the ground.

Her friend wiped away the blood. The two of them standing and looking at their downed attackers. She stood fists at the ready to throw another devastating punch. He cracked his knuckles but stopped suddenly when he turned around.

Around them the music was still playing, but the patron's had stopped. All the staff, and many of the dancers stood at the ready to attack.

They were all members of the club, as was the man that the two had just beaten. Now, all stood at the ready to attack the two; to kill the two.

'Well this is gonna be fun.' Said her friend sarcastically.

'You up for a fight?'

'Are you?'

'Without a doubt.'

As the music reached a crescendo the two ran towards the crowd in the direction of the door. They were halted, she was forced to throw a blow in the first person in front of her. Luckily the patron she had just knocked unconscious was one of the members, one of her attackers.

As the boy in the black shirt turned both briefly glimpsed the bartender. He threw a baseball bat at one of the three first people that they had beat down. Two more bats going to the others.

Their attackers charged waving the baseball bats above their heads. At least they aren't Grifball hammers, she thought to herself. The first of the men with a baseball bat swung at her head but she lunged at him tackling him to the ground. As he fell back the bat slipped from her fingers, as he hit the ground he lost his breath.

'Move!' she heard a voice behind her call.

So doing as was asked of her, she rolled over. In a split second she witnessed the boy's boot stomp on the man's face. As he lifted it she saw that the attacker's nose was flattened and he was left unconscious.

She slid her foot under the bat and flicked it up. The bat was thrown in the air and she caught it, quickly spinning around to knock down one of the unarmed members. As he fell to the ground behind her she noticed that the two were being circled. From over the bar another of the unarmed attackers smashed the bottle of scotch that she had seen not long before.

Slowly some of her attackers rolled in, some charging. One of the attackers with the baseball bat (not the one who had abused her but one the 'cronies') moved in and swung the bat at her friend.

He blocked the blow with he arms, but the impact still knocked him to the ground. So she dropped to the ground and spinning on the floor kicked the man's feet out from underneath him. He slipped on his back and splashed in the puddles that were forming on the floor.

'Pick it up!' she said to him pointing to the bat.

He shook his head.

'Are you kidding? I fight better without.' He replied.

The next of the members charged at her but instead of attacking she merely threw the baseball bat at him. The bat crashed into his head and immediately knocked him out, his arms falling limp at his sides and body twitching as it fell to the ground.

She felt a hand grasp at her ankle and pull her down. It belonged to the man with the now shattered nose. His eyes were now bloodshot and he was frothing at the mouth. In retaliation she knelt down and elbowed him in the spot where his nose had once been. He released his grip in pain.

She wasn't through with him yet and proceeded to knee him brutally into his lower jaw. The sound of the crunch signaled he was finally out cold. She stood and spat on him before preparing for the next of her attackers.

She dove forward, rolling before standing up beside her partner. They were facing the same direction when she heard footsteps. From behind a man was approaching, so she ducked, spun and delivered an uppercut right into the member's groin. He collapsed and a split second later she realised it had been the bartender with the smashed scotch bottle.

'Be right back.' Said her partner.

She turned to see him sprinting towards a gap in their attackers' circle. He was headed straight for a staircase leading up towards the upper levels of the club. She was deserted but guessed he had a plan up his sleeve.

Alone she took on one attacker at a time, holding her ground. First a roundhouse kick to the chest then a left handed uppercut to the jaw. Then another kick on a third person's back before stomping on them with the right boot.

'Hey assholes!' her partner called.

For a split second all the members of the club, all the patrons, and ever her; they all looked towards him waving at the top of the stairs. In a split second she pulled out initiative and pushed through the distracted crowd. Some of the members whom she pushed through noticed and tried to follow her – but she was too quick.

'What's the plan?' she asked him as she reached the top of the stairs.

'Plan? There's supposed to be a plan?' he replied, concerned.

Suddenly most of the members began sprinting towards the stairs. Others remained below and searched for things to use as weapons. She knew it wouldn't be long before someone found a gun.

One by one the members fell. First they'd run up the stairs and one of the two would push them back down. The top floor was completely emptied and she had assumed that they'd evacuated the club owner as to protect him.

She searched the upstairs VIP level for a way out, they couldn't keep fighting on the stairs. She saw the back room, ones that they used for private dancers and paying members. She tugged on her partner's sleeve and got his attention before pointing at the exit.

He threw one last punch to know a guy, one of the biggest, onto his knees. She then initiated a 'jump-kick' that pushed him downstairs, knocking down the others like a snowball effect.

The two ran as fast as they could into the private rooms and he locked the room behind them. There was a moment of peace before she looked out the room's window. Below she saw the lower levels where they had only just escaped from.

There were no civilians. The place had been evacuated. All that remained were the members who were fighting.

'There's gonna be police!' she panicked.

'Nah, they know they started it. If the police came they'd arrest all the members as well as us. We're fine.' He reassured her.

The two pushed down the door on the other side of the room which took them up to another evacuated area of the upper level. Perched over one of the balconies was the DJ's sound desk. The DJ had escaped but the music was still playing.

She wanted to take a moment to soak in the vibrations from the beats and the sound from the speakers – but knew that doing so could cause them to get surrounded and caught.

Her listening was interrupted by a crash. The two turned around and saw that the members had broken down the door that her friend had locked. He pulled on her shoulder and pointed to the VIP bar before running. She followed.

The two vaulted over the bar and ducked into cover behind it.

'They'll know we're here.' She whispered.

'Then let's fight!'

They both stood up to find members charging at them. She picked up the first thing she could, a bottle, and threw it at one of the attackers. The next few moments were a flurry of attacks, the two throwing multiple objects and the members. They threw bottles, glasses, taps, and even the desk phone.

As they were running out of things to throw they were saved by the liquids that had pooled on the other side of the bar. Their attackers continued to run towards them but kept slipping in the puddles of alcohol.

He grabbed an umbrella from the 'lost and found' bucket beside the bar. It was yellow in color she could see that he could use it as a club or something. He lightly punched her arm as to get her attention.

'Let's go!' he said to her.

'Lead the way.'

The two circled around their stunned attackers (who had slipped over into an odd mess). Some stood up and attacked. Four men in particular, and a woman began throwing their bottles at him. So he opened his umbrella and used it as a shield.

The opened shield of the umbrella deflected most of the drinks and managed to defend them as the two pushed towards a small staff elevator. She only hoped that they could get inside, that it would move to the bottom floor quick enough so that they could escape.

As two more attackers stood up from the alcohol soaked piles of bodies he collapsed the umbrella and used it as a bat. Knocking down the two oncoming members they continued to circle around to the lift which was situated beside the door to the private dancer's room.

From the doorway pushed through two of the thugs. The two thugs that had started this fight. The pig man with the shards of glass in his head spat and was the first to point out the their position. They charged, both armed with baseball bats.

The ugliest, the first one that caused the trouble was in front. He swung the bat down on her friend, but he ducked to the side and the baseball bat missed. He then pushed the umbrella forward past the man's right ear before opening it and pulling it – this pulled the man in closer to both her and her partner.

Now closer to her than he had been before the man looked grizzly. Again, her friend saved the day. He threw the umbrella at point blanc as if it were a spear. The umbrella was forced into the eye of the bald man impaling it.

A squelch sound was heard as a clear liquid squirted from the man's tear ducts. Following this blackish red blood began to ooze from where the umbrella was jutting out, perfectly in his right eye.

The man let out a loud scream of pain before collapsing. In a split moment her partner tried to pull the umbrella from the man's eye socket but it wouldn't come free.

They were within five or so meters to the lift now. York only a little stunned at what he had just done. The second of the two lead attackers now swung his bat at her, but she ducked and kicked up above her head into the man's neck. She swung her foot around, bringing his head along with it until the man was pushed against the balcony overlooking the ground floor.

He slipped on the puddle of spirits at his feet, and having been kicked by her fell. He fell down off the level and hit the floor. The man landed on his head and his body collapsed, hunched over his head. He was dead. York was stunned too, wide eyed and somewhat frightened.

'Come on, there's no time!' she exclaimed as she looked back at the members who were quickly untangling themselves from the mess back at the bar.

She desperately pressed on the call lift button as the people regained themselves and made their way towards both her and her unnamed male ally. Finally the doors to the lift burst open, and a man inside lunged at her friend with a shattered glass bottle. The neck was swung at her before jutted towards her friend's general direction.

She grabbed the man's attacking arm and elbowed his elbow so that it snapped. In pain the man twisted and lunged back towards her. She sidestepped and the bartender's glass bottle stabbed one of the member's necks.

She pushed her partner into the lift and pressed the ground floor button. As the doors shut she looked out through the glass and saw that the bartender had stabbed the DJ in the neck with the bottle. Blood squirted out of the cuts as the boy desperately tried to pick himself up, grasping at the balcony rails but slipping as his blood soaked fingers let go.

He could live, she reassured herself. The lift propelled downwards with quick speed before coming to a halt on the bottom level. The exit was unguarded but the members were desperately running down the stairs to get to them. There was only a split second of time they could jump at; a split second was all they could allow themselves to get to the exit.

A cold and bloodied blade pressed against her throat and halted her movement. Her friend had been ahead of her but now stopped to see what had caused her to stop running.

She looked up and saw a man with a broken face, a bald man drooling blood. His eye socket spitting up a reddish black fluid. How did he beat her down there? She asked herself, but the knife tightened in against her neck. She could feel the knife about to slice open her neck. If even a small incision was made, his blood already on the knife would mix with hers and she'd probably die from that.

She stepped back with her right foot, stepping into his. It didn't disarm him and instead pulled him into. The knife stung like a snake's bite. She was willing to embrace death if she had too, but she wouldn't. This was a 'hostage situation' yes, but it wasn't a deadly one. If he had to he would kill her without a doubt, but—

A gunshot was heard and interrupted her train of thought. She adapted, rolling forward as it happened. The pig faced man was still wrapped around her, but being rolled over the top of her received a bullet to the leg.

The two sprinted for the door glancing to see if the man was dead, he wasn't. The music was still playing and now she began to finally appreciate the beats. The doors to the exit opened wide and a cold gust of wind chilled her. She shivered.

The doors were closing, as they did the two stared back. Their attackers didn't follow. They knew they had lost. A million thoughts rushed through her head. What had started as a simple bar brawl turned into a gunfight within minutes. With the doors shut the music muffled and she felt the vibrations only through the floor now.

She had noticed that she was panting. Cardio, it was her strength and weakness. She was deadly fast, but struggled to keep sprinting with a stable stamina. She turned to her right, the boy who had fought alongside her was leaning against the wall. He too was panting.

She looked outwards and saw all the patrons that had been evacuated. They were all staring at the two, she gave a nervous smile and they all seemed to smile back.

By the time the two had regained their breaths many of the patrons had taken cabs off the premises. No one had followed the two out, they knew that if the police were involved it would be all the club's members that would take the fall.

'So, that cigarette?' he asked her.

She pulled the lighter out again and set up the flame. The wind blew it back down again. The boy awkwardly held out his hand again, chewing on the end of his cigarette. Instead she approached him and covered the cigarette with her left hand, lighting it with her right. She fell flustered at how close she was to him.

Once the cigarette was alight she turned away.

'I only live a short distance away.' He offered.

'Sorry?'

'I own like a paradise apartment, glass walls overlooking the city. Tonight you could be a lucky guest who gets to spent at least one night inside.'

She giggled. When she realised how foolish she sounded she coughed. Girls are giggly, you're a lady, she reminded herself.

'So, where is this paradise apartment?' she asked him.

He pointed over the edge of the club and up to a skyscraper not far off. He pointed to the apartment, which was not much higher than where the club was situated. The apartment did overlook the club, it would be a spectacular view. It began to rain, so he stood around her so she was close to the wall. Like a gentleman he protected her from the rain.

'So, you got a name?' he asked…

**Red vs. Blue: The Freelancer Archives**

**Season One**

He was still waiting for an answer as he lit another cigarette. He blew a puff into the air and it swirled in the wind. As soon as he'd lit it he flicked the cigarette away.

She replied, '…it's Church. And you can keep the lighter.'

'Got a first name, Church?'


	2. Episode One: Killed in Action

**_Author's Note: Some of the Characters and Lines from this story appear in Rooster Teeth Production's 'Red vs. Blue' and are in no way created by the author. Some other lines appear in various other works of Rooster Teeth – however, most of the lines, characters and locations that appear here in 'Red vs. Blue: The Freelancer Archives Season One' are works of fiction created by the mind of the author._**

**_Visit the Red vs. Blue Fanon Wiki (The Freelancer Archives) for the official pages._**

**_…..._**

_…Stop it, you're gonna make me late. They're waiting for me…_

_…Leonard, come on. I have to go. Don't make me hurt you…_

_…And don't worry, you'll see me again…_

_…But don't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes…_

**The Red Waste, Vevalon IX**

The sandstorm had reached the wasteland long before she joined the others in the warthog. The first thing that she wondered was whether or not they'd be attacked. If they were attacked then they would barely be able to defend themselves. Firstly, the troop transportation hog wasn't equipped with any weaponry. Secondly the sand clouds were so thick that it was hard enough seeing who else was in the car with her.

'Do we know where they are?' she asked the driver.

'The Covenant?' he replied.

'Yeah.'

'They're just beyond these dust clouds past the mountain range along the outside of the Red Waste.'

'So we're safe here?' she asked.

'Certainly.'

The man driving the warthog, like her and the other passenger, was a UNSC marine. He was Lt. Jackson, a man who she'd met only once before. He seemed charming enough when he'd picked her up at Basecamp. He was supposed to help navigate her and Dex through the thick sandstorm through to the frontlines.

The warthog took a sharp turn left and nearly through Allison off. She braced herself and looked over the edge at the ground, there was no road. She wondered how the lieutenant knew where to go.

'You 'kay, Ali?' Dex asked her.

Good old, Dex. He was always there for her. Dex Kensie and her had graduated together. They were good soldiers but Dex was more intelligent then he was a capable fighter. She was thinking about him, and the old days. Then she thought about home, and her boyfriend... and her daughter.

'Hey, Blondie. Wakey-wakey. Are you in there, Allison?' he asked again.

Releasing she hadn't responded she replied.

'Uh, yeah. Just thinking about home.'

Dex had short browny-blonde hair and wore glasses. He was always there for her on the battlefield. She was actually quite thankful that he was on this mission with her. The two made quite a team, but Allison just hoped that the team would be strong enough to kill the aliens. The UNSC base was the only thing between the alien taskforce and the Vevalon IX farming colony.

The hog continued to drive when Allison heard thunder. She couldn't see the sky due to all the red of the sand. She knew it was day and sunny and wondered why thunder could be heard. The sound panicked her and she held her Assault Rifle tighter. A few short bursts of gunfire were heard.

Allison could tell something was wrong. She turned to look behind the hog so fast that her UNSC cap fell off and her long blonde hair fell loose. Wiping it from her eyes she looked forward. The warthog's bonnet was hidden by the dense sand and dust clouds all around her. She couldn't understand why the lieutenant and Dex were so calm.

A few light flashes of pink broke through the dust and seconds later the warthog swerved. The driver fell back in his chair as Dex braced himself. It had all happened so quickly, Allison pulled herself forward and noticed the pink needles jutting out of the driver's chest. He was dead. The Covenant were closer than they thought.

The warthog swerved more before spinning and tipping over to its left. It skidded and crashed into a large boulder, throwing both Allison and Dex out into the sound. She could barely see him and was distracted by the painful grazes on the palms of her hands. She looked around and saw his silhouette crawling towards the turned over warthog.

And she followed him, crawling, she noticed the blood all over the upturned warthog's windscreen. Was it possible that they had hit another marine? She was stunned. From behind her there was flashes of gold and white as several other marines passed her body. Those who ran were gunned down by an assortment of Covenant attacks coming from the cover of the dust storm.

'…-ison! Allison! Ali, get over here!' it was Dex.

She could see he was waving her over towards the cover of the overturned vehicle. She crawled more, her left arm had gone numb and the Assault Rifle that she had been previously holding on to was missing. Still she dragged herself towards her friend's position. Slowly the whirring in her ears ceased and she could hear the sound of his voice much clearer.

'What… -What happened?' she was dazed.

He was yelling something at her but she couldn't understand what he was saying. Covenant plasma sprayed over the top of the warthog, and bullets from charging UNSC soldiers were fired back in the direction of the Covenant. She couldn't understand a word Dex was saying.

She looked around for something, a weapon, anything. Her search was interrupted when she threw up. Instead of anything expected she coughed up blood, more than she thought possible. She looked down and crouched into a ball. Her belly was exposed and had been slashed by rocks, presumably from the crash.

Allison looked around, more marines fell. They weren't fighting, they were killing themselves. One fell and hit the ground but his body disappeared completely when it hit the ground.

'…eep it together Allison! Look at me! You're okay!' he spoke, clearer than ever.

'I- I'm okay.' She said as she coughed up a little more blood.

The marine that disappeared, he wasn't covered in the sand. He seemed to just sink. Turning towards Dex she slapped him in the chest and pointed towards the marine that had vanished.

'The trenches!' she said in words barely audible.

Still scores of men were cut down by their Covenant attackers. Allison turned back towards the warthog she was using as cover. A small weapons cache was sitting in the backseat. Opening it revealed a small frag grenade. Not the most powerful weapon, but one that she knew would help.

'What are you doing!?' Dex screamed at her.

'Saving our butts!'

She grabbed his left arm and pulled him up. The two crouched still behind the warthog. She tugged again and the two ran towards the disappeared marine. As she ran, Allison looked back at the warthog and squeezed on the frag grenade before releasing the pin. She threw it over her shoulder and didn't bother looking back. She didn't have to destroy the warthog, but in doing so she would at least be able to fake her death.

Then she tripped over, falling into the trenches with Dex somewhere on top of her. Below and above her UNSC corpses were littered. It was a massacre. Instinctively she pulled the Assault Rifle off a dead marine and looted his pockets for some spare cartridges. Dex had found a sniper rifle and perched himself on the trench edge looking through the scope towards where the Covenant were firing from.

'See anything?' she asked.

'Jack shit! There's so much dust!'

'Any ideas?'

'None.'

'We have to find Bishop!' she concluded.

Bishop Kimball was the third of her friendship group. She loved him, as much as she had Dex. Leonard had always said he was jealous of Bishop; but Allison had shut him up when she had a child with Leonard. Her daughter was the cutest little girl she had ever seen, and she was hers. The girl had green eyes like her father but red hair unlike anyone in either her father or mother's heritage. – Thinking of family helped her stay safe.

'And how exactly do we do that?' called Dex.

'He was stationed on the frontlines. He'll be he–' a large crash was heard and a bright orange and red light flooded her vision. Somewhere nearby a Pelican must have crashed. '–be here somewhere!' she finished.

It wasn't long before the two did find Bishop. He was ordering some of the Privates and Lieutenants to fire blindly into the sandstorm. It was his voice that Allison recognized first. She called out to him, interrupting him and stopping him from barking out orders.

'Allison! Glad you're alright!' he said to her before noticing Dex with the sniper rifle behind her. 'You too, Dex.'

Her quick greeting was interrupted when four or five small glowing blue orbs dropped from the sky and hit some of the marines in the trenches. In the short time they had, the marines desperately tried to pull the bubbles from their armor. Plasma Grenades. The frontline broke as seven to eight men exploded into a spray of red mist. Their puddles of blood catching fire, blue fire, when coming in contact with the blue of the plasma.

With the frontline broken there would be nothing to keep the alien horde in check. It was hard enough for Allison to accept that they'd reached the Red Waste but now they had successfully infiltrated the canyon. Without a frontline the Covenant would bush through to Basecamp and annihilate it.

Soaked with adrenaline she thought for a way out of this situation. Around her the men and women of the UNSC were nervous, but just as eager to fight.

'Charge!' she screamed.

Around her the marines run for their lives, vaulting out of the trench. Some were cut down immediately. There were scores of marines around her running into the unknown, running towards an inevitable doom. Behind her she could hear someone yelling.

'No! Allison! Allison!' a male voice, either Dex or Bishop.

She pushed her way through the thickest of the dust clouds until she could no longer see the allies charging around her. If she could just push through to the other side of the enemy lines then maybe she could outflank them. There was a very small but entirely possible chance of success.

The sandstorm had begun breaking up in sections and for a few short seconds Allison could see the bright blue sky. But then a moment of peace was silenced when she noticed the smoking Hornet, a UNSC airship flying through the sky. Behind it two purple spacecraft chased it down. They were recognizable by their high pitched whir, they were Banshees. A second later one of the Banshees dispersed a green ball of plasma and then her vision was obstructed by more clouds. She didn't need to know what happened next, the Banshees would no doubt destroy the Hornet.

Silhouettes began to appear in the distance through the sand. She raised her Assault Rifle and pulled down on the trigger. A heavy burst of machine gun fire shot from the weapon and knocked one of the shadows down. As she ran more appeared, some recognizable as Humans and even more as the aliens she was fighting.

A big flash of blue blinded her for a short moment and forced her to aim in a random direction and fire in hopes of clipping an enemy. She stopped when she realised she could be firing at her fellow comrades. As her vision returned she felt uncoordinated, she was lost. Had she been turned around?

For a second she sat crouched and waited for either faction to fire. This would show her the way to go. Plasma fire missed her head at close range followed by shots that appeared to be coming from a Beam Rifle. Two shots from the Beam Rifle were fired, both barely missing. She thought back to training, the Beam Rifle was a sniper rifle. If she was being fired at by a Sniper Rifle it was likely the aliens knew where she was.

She stood and immediately began sprinting towards the gunfire. Around her explosions could be heard, some closer than others. She dodged many, jumping to her sides to avoid sniper fire or artillery. Through the dust she could see a light red blinking, a visor light for the Covenant. Again she raised her weapon and fired the Assault Rifle, this time killing the alien sniper.

As she ran the sand cleared more and she could see further out. A large blue plasma explosion burst at her feet. The ground beneath her collapsed and she fell into a small crater where she once stood. Crouched, she threw up once more. More blood. She poked her head up for a moment but decided to stay within the hole, it would provide optimal cover.

One alien, an Elite as they are nicknamed, found her and aimed a Covenant Carbine at her. She was stunned, for the third time that day. In a moment she sensed her death. The Elite hesitated killing her, and she realised – the aliens were like the Humans, they fell victim to emotions just as much as the average person. This Elite didn't want to take a person's life. But this was war, this was kill or be killed. If she had waited a second longer she would be dead.

She pulled on the trigger. The MA5B Individual Combat Weapon System, the Assault Rifle: 660 rounds, 60 rounds per magazine, 11 magazines total. Misriah Armory became a millionaire asset company for the UNSC after the creation of this tool of death. It had a maximum range of 300 meters. It's only faults came with a faulty spring (that you almost never noticed) and great inaccuracy at long range (which didn't matter from this range).

All 60 bullets, flew from the nozzle of the Assault Rifle. All 60 hitting the Elite's head one after the other until the bastard's face was nothing but an empty socket bulling bizarre extraterrestrial bloods. The alien collapsed and toppled into the hole with her. It's blood spilling from the crevice in its face all over her armor.

Then the Wraith came, the Covenant tank. It hovered over the hole for a short moment. If Allison had reached a tank, then she would be close to the back of the Covenant army. She was nearly there. But she needed more men. In a desperate act to save some souls she looted the dead alien beside her and picked up a Covenant Plasma Grenade.

She activated it and planted the 'sticky' on the bottom of the tank as it began to move away. She knelt ready to push off out of the crater before the tank exploded. Then it stopped, and rolled back. Allison was forced to sink back in the crater as the Wraith rolled back over the hole.

Damn, she was so close. She looked for a way out, there's always a way out. But still the Plasma Grenade glowed from beneath the tank. There was no time – and no way out. The grenade exploded and Allison felt as her breath was pulled out of her. She choked and felt her legs fly out from under her, her spine pushed into the soil below. Her bones shattering with the explosion. She was dead. Then the Wraith, affected by the grenade blew up too. The young woman from Texas was dead.

Over the course of the next few hours the Covenant would push through the frontlines, rolling alien tanks over the top. They would push through the thickest of the sandstorm and wait. When the storm would pass, the UNSC would find an entire Covenant army on their doorstep and it will be too late.

She was so close, but she failed.

**'Goldbrush' UNSC Requisitions Facility, Vevalon IX**

Leonard watched as the coffin was lowered into the hole below. This was not how she was supposed to go out, this was not how she was supposed to die. She was his everything, he knew that part of him died with her.

He thought for a moment how selfish it was that Allison would go out like this, how selfish that she would just leave him to take care of their child. All the feelings of hate and betrayal ceased when he remembered that he loved her. She was his everything.

A little girl tugged at his arm at his right. She seemed so alien to him now. A little girl of four or five, he couldn't remember. She had long red hair and beautiful green eyes. But she wasn't good enough.

'Daddy, I need to go pee.' She whispered.

'In a minute.'

Beside him stood a faceless man, a nameless man. He was a counselor for the UNSC, a man who would rehabilitate the minds of those who lost loved ones to the war. The man of African American descent stared at him for a short time.

'I'm sorry for your loss.' The counselor said.

'It was no loss!' he said, forgetting about the little girl at his side.

As the dust settled at the funeral he swept the last tear away from his eye. He looked around, others weeped for the fallen. Side by side two coffins were lowered. Leonard had organized to do a joint funeral with the Kensie family. The two were best friends, it seemed fitting that Allison and Dex go down together.

Bishop, he had disappeared. He had escaped the UNSC facility as Covenant bowled it over. Rumor has it he did what he could for the colonists, but he didn't make it. These were merely rumors. Unlike Dex and unlike… unlike _her_, Bishop was listed Missing in Action.

Allison, she wasn't dead. The first thing they told Leonard when he asked to see the body was that 'there wasn't enough for us to salvage'. They did what they could but the contents of the coffin wasn't just her. There were bits of alien, bits of rubble, bits of Covenant technology. This wasn't _her_ funeral at all.

She never said goodbye.

Therefore she isn't gone. She can't be gone. I won't let it be…

Leonard Church turned away, his daughter happily trailing in his footsteps.

'When will Mummy come home?' she asked.

'Soon, little one. Very, very soon.'

**Red vs. Blue: The Freelancer Archives**

**Season One**

_Episode One: Killed in Action_

**Many Years Later…**

**Club Errera, Reach**

She leant forward over the seat and paid the cab driver thirty dollars. He gave a quick nod before looking back at the map on the shuttle dashboard. Politely she turned towards the back seat door and exited. For the first time in years she noticed the height of the tower as the blood rushed to her head.

Club Errera was situated atop one of the tallest towers in Reach's capital New Alexandria. She heard the song _Pray_ playing within the club. It reminded her of the sparring she used to do with her father when she was younger.

Behind her flowed blue tassels off and over her black skirt. A sleeveless white corset wrapped around her upper body as she approached the club entrance. The muffled music vibrated the floor beneath her boot high-heels. As the door opened the loud music filled her ears.

This hadn't been her first time inside the club. In the past her and her friends had gone there to pick up. But she was always disinterested. Today she felt different though, tonight she was angry and tonight she was ready. She had tied her long red hair into a ponytail behind her head as she entered the club.

The club was dark, with the exception of the flashing neon lights. Arrays of reds, blues, greens and yellows lit the room dramatically. The blinding white of strobe lights encouraging the dancers to lose their minds.

Dance like this is your last night on Earth. It was an old saying she used to hear, she figured it was old because she hadn't been to Earth in years. She'd left her father there a few months earlier and moving out decided to live in the city. Moving to the paradise world of Reach was the best decision she'd ever made.

She pushed through the crowds, not happy nor sad. She'd start by the bar. A woman with a drink in their hand would likely be approached in an instant by a determined guy. If a girl was in her twenties, which she was, it was supposedly impossible to not hook up at Errera.

As she weaved through the scores of people she looked up, the floor above held the VIPs and officials of the club. There the DJ played his beats to the best of his ability. She recognized him from the last time she'd been to Errera. They called him 'The Animal' or something just as stupid. She looked at him and nodded, half expecting him to nod back.

She tugged on the leather glove on her right hand. She was nervous, in the past she'd never tried to find a guy. She'd entered the club excited but unaware of whether or not she was looking for a man to settle down with or a boy to spend a night with.

Reach was once hit by the aliens during the first Covenant war. Club Errera was one of the buildings to be destroyed. Since the second Covenant war, Reach had not been hit. Reach was one of the heaviest protected planets under the UNSC defence committee. There was never any fear that the colony world would fall again.

Stepping out of the dancing crowds she saw the bar. It was almost completely empty with the exception of one guy, about her age, sitting alone. He wore a short sleeved straight black shirt. For a moment she considered socializing but panicked upon considering that she might not actually be appropriately dressed.

By this stage her friends would have awkwardly pushed her into the guy's arms in order to introduce them. This would, in theory, stop her from chickening out. It didn't. Her friends weren't here anymore. She stared at him a moment longer, he was definitely alone.

She strode over towards the bar, eyeing the seat. She next wondered whether it would be someone she knew. Then again, there were two reasons why that was a load of crap. One, she didn't know anyone on Reach. Two, she didn't know any boys…anywhere.

She seated herself on the bar stool and patiently waited for the bartender to make his way to her. She saw that the boy next to her was sipping lightly on a reddish drink, similar in appearance to what she liked to order.

The bartender was a tall bald man, similar to what you'd expect a bouncer to look like. He approached her, wiping the bar with a dry towel as he dead.

'What can I getcha?' he asked.

'Scotch with raspberry.' She replied.

'Ah, so a Ballet Breakup.'

'You know that drink?' she asked, surprised.

'They don't call Reach the paradise planet for nothing now, so they.' He smiled before turning to the taps behind him

He poured a bottle of scotch into a small glass before squirting a tube of red fluid from a bar hose into the drink. A short few seconds later she received her drink. He slid it across the bar a few centimeters and she caught it, just like it happened in the old Western movies.

'Enjoy.' He said before turning away.

She looked down at the drink. As appealing as it looked, it wasn't as perfect as she had seen on other worlds. Out of her peripheral vision she saw the boy, he was staring at her. Embarrassed and confronted she turned to him.

'Can I help you?' she confronted him.

'Yeah. Would it be cheesy of me to offer that to go on my tab?' he asked.

The boy was charming, she could give him that. He was wearing denim jeans and leather shoes. He seemed a lot more broad shouldered than she had seen from behind. From the front she recognized that he had short brown hair, spiked at the fringe.

'Not in the slightest.' She replied.

We waved to the barman casually before pointing at both the girl's drink and then to him. The barman then gave an understanding nod. She was flattered, usually she would be quite aggressive and try to scare the first guy off. This was different.

'So I notice you're drinking a scotch and raspberry.' He began.

'Why yes I am.'

'So am I.' he said, smiling cheekily.

'So?' she asked, playing him for a better response.

He was silent, desperately trying to search for words to say, but none came to him. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked his lower lip before biting on it. He was lost. She had played him and won.

'Shit.' He said suddenly, defeated.

'Nice attempt at a pick up line.' She joked to him before looking back at her drink.

She sipped the 'ballet breakup' once and then again. The scotch burned the back of her throat, but cleared away her sins all the same.

The boy said nothing, he was defeated and sulking in his chair. He was hunched and it was clear to see that she'd bothered him. She thought for a moment and wondered whether she would apologize. But she didn't, why should she?

'You wouldn't happen to have a lighter on you, would you?' he spoke, finally.

As a matter of fact she did. She reached into her corset and pulled out a lighter. It was one branded 'Club Errera' which she'd received on her first visit. She showed it to him and his eyes lit up like a child discovering Christmas for the first time.

'Oh, cheers.' He said excitedly.

He held out his hand for her, hoping she would place the lighter in it. She didn't. Instead she was distracted by spectacle behind her. It was 'rain o'clock' in the club. For an hour every weekend the fire sprinklers on the roof would release water onto the dance floor. This was that hour.

Behind them guys and girls lost themselves in the adrenaline of passion. As they dance the rapid strobe lights reflected off the sweat soaked bodies of the clubbers. As they moved the droplets from the roof bounced off floor, with each stamp of a foot puddles splashed about the room. The lower level roof over the bar stopped the water from hitting the patrons, and small holes the size of skin pores were supposedly layered in the floors to drain the water during the day when the club was closed down.

She turned to the boy at her left. He was looking at her, and she realised she'd forgotten to give him the Club Errera branded lighter. She flicked the thing to him and he caught it with ease. He pulled out a cigarette from his denim pants pocket and began to light it up.

'Hey you!' the bartender called. 'You're not allowed to smoke in here.'

He was confused, as if the bartender was speaking another language. After a good long ten seconds he put the cigarette back into the box in his pocket and flicked it back at her.

'Thanks' he said to her, despite not being able to use it.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be, it's not your fault THE BARTENDER'S AN ASS!' he raised his voice.

The Bartender ignored him.

'So what brings you to Reach?' he asked her.

'What makes you say I'm not local?'

'Well you're dressed up and you're carrying around an Errera lighter.'

'So wouldn't that mean I've been here before?' she asked, confused.

'Yes, but not all the time. If you were here all the time you wouldn't be carrying a tourist lighter on yourself.'

'Maybe so.' She smiled. 'But if I was here all the time I would know that smoking isn't allowed.'

'I don't smoke.' The boy replied.

She was confused. Not seconds earlier she had seen him pull out a cigarette to light with her lighter.

'But you—'

'I don't smoke much.' He corrected.

She rolled her eyes. The two were getting along quite well. She was actually quite surprised, he was quite charming. He actually had looked like quite a jerk when she moved towards the bar before.

'You didn't answer my question.' He said.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'What brings you to Reach?' he reminded her.

'Trying to escape an utterly shit life.' She laughed. He did too. 'You here with anyone?'

'Me? Nope. I'm a bit of a loner. Most of my friends have gone to fight in the war.'

'Too scared?' she provoked.

'No, but the aliens should be when they see me coming. I have signed up but I'm waiting for them to approve my forms.' He looked down at his drink.

'You look worried.'

'Nah, just…' he took a swig of the scotch. 'It doesn't look likely that I'll get in. I've got a criminal history. I own an apartment but no keys to it. So I lockpick.'

She laughed, predicting where the story was going to go.

'I got arrested for breaking into my own home.' He concluded. 'They let me out, but it's still on my official record.'

The bartender walked past the two again and refilled both of their drinks before winking at her. She felt slightly disgusted, before she probably would have been flattered but something was different now. When she turned to the guy she could see pure jealousy. He parted his hair briefly with his hand as he stared at the bartender.

'So what music do you like?' she asked, desperate to make conversation.

'This.' He said, pointing up to an invisible spot above him.

'Pray? Oh god, I love this song.'

'Same, it's freaking beautiful.'

Sure, beautiful is a word for it.'

He leant forward and looked toward the upper levels of the club, hoping to catch the lyrics of the song. She sat back and closing her eyes, did the same.

The beats bounced across the building's walls and reverberated through all the patrons. Reverberating through her chest it became as familiar as her own heartbeat. It made sense, because her heart was racing. The beats and music were lyrical in time with the lighting display.

She turned to her new found friend who was not even paying attention to what was going on behind him. Either he really was a local, or he was a zombie.

'Evening, ma'am.' Came a voice from behind her.

She turned to see who it was but found no one. She looked back at her friend only to find that the man who had spoken to her had wedged himself between the two. He was a pig, bald (like the bartender) with an overgrown moustache.

'Hi.'

'Whatcha drinking?' he asked.

'Scotch and raspberry.'

After a few seconds he snorted and burst out laughing. That's when she realised that the man had two other friends that _were_ behind her. They too were laughing aloud.

'What's so funny?' she asked, slightly pissed off.

'Scotch? Ain't that a bit strong for a lady?'

'Excuse me?' she said, offended. 'What the hell do you know about ladies?'

'Enough to get me laid. So, you up for it?'

'No!' she spat. 'Never, not with you!'

She sat forward and continued drinking her drink. She could almost imagine that the man was pissed off, looking at the table in shock. Instead she heard laughter from past him, from the guy she had been talking to.

'What's so funny?' the man said turning towards him.

'Oh, nothing.' He said, pretending to hold in the laughter before bursting out again.

'I said, what's funny?'

'It's just- it's just the thought of a dickhead, such as yourself, thinking you have a chance with such a girl as this.'

'What?'

'Didn't hear me? Or are you deaf as well as stupid.' He chuckled.

The man bashed his fist against the bar as the bartender turned away. She jumped at the sound of the thud.

'Now I'm going to pretend you're just gonna shut your face. I also suggest that you fuck off…'

Again the bald man turned his attention to her. He sniffed, the snot dribbling from his nostrils being sucked back up as he did.

'Now, listen lady. I'm gonna give you one chance to open your legs before I force you too.' He said, angrily.

She turned to him, fists clenched. She would have hit him too if it weren't for the interruption. Her friend stood up and pulled on the man's shoulders. He quickly turned and swung his right fist launching it straight at the guy's jaw.

Her friend fell down out of sight before the man reached out at her. So next she delivered a blow. It was a punch that shattered his jaw, some of the combat she'd gained had begun to surface. He fell to his knees but collapsed on a stool, using it to pull himself to his feet.

'You're gonna regret that, you son of a bi—'

Her friend had stood up, his glass of scotch now shattered over the man's head. Scotch and blood combined and swirled around the shards of glass slicing into his head.

In a second the man's two friends were onto her protector (not that she needed a protector). One held him back, pinning his arms behind him. The other swinging a punch.

The flashing of the lights in time with the music provided the perfect cover. In an instance of darkness her friend ducked. The blow landed into his suppressor's temple. Two men were collapsed on the ground, the final was then knocked down when she kicked him. The heel of her leather shoe crushing a small section of his spine. All three were on the ground.

Her friend wiped away the blood. The two of them standing and looking at their downed attackers. She stood fists at the ready to throw another devastating punch. He cracked his knuckles but stopped suddenly when he turned around.

Around them the music was still playing, but the patron's had stopped. All the staff, and many of the dancers stood at the ready to attack.

They were all members of the club, as was the man that the two had just beaten. Now, all stood at the ready to attack the two; to kill the two.

'Well this is gonna be fun.' Said her friend sarcastically.

'You up for a fight?'

'Are you?'

'Without a doubt.'

As the music reached a crescendo the two ran towards the crowd in the direction of the door. They were halted, she was forced to throw a blow in the first person in front of her. Luckily the patron she had just knocked unconscious was one of the members, one of her attackers.

As the boy in the black shirt turned both briefly glimpsed the bartender. He threw a baseball bat at one of the three first people that they had beat down. Two more bats going to the others.

Their attackers charged waving the baseball bats above their heads. At least they aren't Grifball hammers, she thought to herself. The first of the men with a baseball bat swung at her head but she lunged at him tackling him to the ground. As he fell back the bat slipped from her fingers, as he hit the ground he lost his breath.

'Move!' she heard a voice behind her call.

So doing as was asked of her, she rolled over. In a split second she witnessed the boy's boot stomp on the man's face. As he lifted it she saw that the attacker's nose was flattened and he was left unconscious.

She slid her foot under the bat and flicked it up. The bat was thrown in the air and she caught it, quickly spinning around to knock down one of the unarmed members. As he fell to the ground behind her she noticed that the two were being circled. From over the bar another of the unarmed attackers smashed the bottle of scotch that she had seen not long before.

Slowly some of her attackers rolled in, some charging. One of the attackers with the baseball bat (not the one who had abused her but one the 'cronies') moved in and swung the bat at her friend.

He blocked the blow with he arms, but the impact still knocked him to the ground. So she dropped to the ground and spinning on the floor kicked the man's feet out from underneath him. He slipped on his back and splashed in the puddles that were forming on the floor.

'Pick it up!' she said to him pointing to the bat.

He shook his head.

'Are you kidding? I fight better without.' He replied.

The next of the members charged at her but instead of attacking she merely threw the baseball bat at him. The bat crashed into his head and immediately knocked him out, his arms falling limp at his sides and body twitching as it fell to the ground.

She felt a hand grasp at her ankle and pull her down. It belonged to the man with the now shattered nose. His eyes were now bloodshot and he was frothing at the mouth. In retaliation she knelt down and elbowed him in the spot where his nose had once been. He released his grip in pain.

She wasn't through with him yet and proceeded to knee him brutally into his lower jaw. The sound of the crunch signaled he was finally out cold. She stood and spat on him before preparing for the next of her attackers.

She dove forward, rolling before standing up beside her partner. They were facing the same direction when she heard footsteps. From behind a man was approaching, so she ducked, spun and delivered an uppercut right into the member's groin. He collapsed and a split second later she realised it had been the bartender with the smashed scotch bottle.

'Be right back.' Said her partner.

She turned to see him sprinting towards a gap in their attackers' circle. He was headed straight for a staircase leading up towards the upper levels of the club. She was deserted but guessed he had a plan up his sleeve.

Alone she took on one attacker at a time, holding her ground. First a roundhouse kick to the chest then a left handed uppercut to the jaw. Then another kick on a third person's back before stomping on them with the right boot.

'Hey assholes!' her partner called.

For a split second all the members of the club, all the patrons, and ever her; they all looked towards him waving at the top of the stairs. In a split second she pulled out initiative and pushed through the distracted crowd. Some of the members whom she pushed through noticed and tried to follow her – but she was too quick.

'What's the plan?' she asked him as she reached the top of the stairs.

'Plan? There's supposed to be a plan?' he replied, concerned.

Suddenly most of the members began sprinting towards the stairs. Others remained below and searched for things to use as weapons. She knew it wouldn't be long before someone found a gun.

One by one the members fell. First they'd run up the stairs and one of the two would push them back down. The top floor was completely emptied and she had assumed that they'd evacuated the club owner as to protect him.

She searched the upstairs VIP level for a way out, they couldn't keep fighting on the stairs. She saw the back room, ones that they used for private dancers and paying members. She tugged on her partner's sleeve and got his attention before pointing at the exit.

He threw one last punch to know a guy, one of the biggest, onto his knees. She then initiated a 'jump-kick' that pushed him downstairs, knocking down the others like a snowball effect.

The two ran as fast as they could into the private rooms and he locked the room behind them. There was a moment of peace before she looked out the room's window. Below she saw the lower levels where they had only just escaped from.

There were no civilians. The place had been evacuated. All that remained were the members who were fighting.

'There's gonna be police!' she panicked.

'Nah, they know they started it. If the police came they'd arrest all the members as well as us. We're fine.' He reassured her.

The two pushed down the door on the other side of the room which took them up to another evacuated area of the upper level. Perched over one of the balconies was the DJ's sound desk. The DJ had escaped but the music was still playing.

She wanted to take a moment to soak in the vibrations from the beats and the sound from the speakers – but knew that doing so could cause them to get surrounded and caught.

Her listening was interrupted by a crash. The two turned around and saw that the members had broken down the door that her friend had locked. He pulled on her shoulder and pointed to the VIP bar before running. She followed.

The two vaulted over the bar and ducked into cover behind it.

'They'll know we're here.' She whispered.

'Then let's fight!'

They both stood up to find members charging at them. She picked up the first thing she could, a bottle, and threw it at one of the attackers. The next few moments were a flurry of attacks, the two throwing multiple objects and the members. They threw bottles, glasses, taps, and even the desk phone.

As they were running out of things to throw they were saved by the liquids that had pooled on the other side of the bar. Their attackers continued to run towards them but kept slipping in the puddles of alcohol.

He grabbed an umbrella from the 'lost and found' bucket beside the bar. It was yellow in color she could see that he could use it as a club or something. He lightly punched her arm as to get her attention.

'Let's go!' he said to her.

'Lead the way.'

The two circled around their stunned attackers (who had slipped over into an odd mess). Some stood up and attacked. Four men in particular, and a woman began throwing their bottles at him. So he opened his umbrella and used it as a shield.

The opened shield of the umbrella deflected most of the drinks and managed to defend them as the two pushed towards a small staff elevator. She only hoped that they could get inside, that it would move to the bottom floor quick enough so that they could escape.

As two more attackers stood up from the alcohol soaked piles of bodies he collapsed the umbrella and used it as a bat. Knocking down the two oncoming members they continued to circle around to the lift which was situated beside the door to the private dancer's room.

From the doorway pushed through two of the thugs. The two thugs that had started this fight. The pig man with the shards of glass in his head spat and was the first to point out the their position. They charged, both armed with baseball bats.

The ugliest, the first one that caused the trouble was in front. He swung the bat down on her friend, but he ducked to the side and the baseball bat missed. He then pushed the umbrella forward past the man's right ear before opening it and pulling it – this pulled the man in closer to both her and her partner.

Now closer to her than he had been before the man looked grizzly. Again, her friend saved the day. He threw the umbrella at point blanc as if it were a spear. The umbrella was forced into the eye of the bald man impaling it.

A squelch sound was heard as a clear liquid squirted from the man's tear ducts. Following this blackish red blood began to ooze from where the umbrella was jutting out, perfectly in his right eye.

The man let out a loud scream of pain before collapsing. In a split moment her partner tried to pull the umbrella from the man's eye socket but it wouldn't come free.

They were within five or so meters to the lift now. York only a little stunned at what he had just done. The second of the two lead attackers now swung his bat at her, but she ducked and kicked up above her head into the man's neck. She swung her foot around, bringing his head along with it until the man was pushed against the balcony overlooking the ground floor.

He slipped on the puddle of spirits at his feet, and having been kicked by her fell. He fell down off the level and hit the floor. The man landed on his head and his body collapsed, hunched over his head. He was dead. York was stunned too, wide eyed and somewhat frightened.

'Come on, there's no time!' she exclaimed as she looked back at the members who were quickly untangling themselves from the mess back at the bar.

She desperately pressed on the call lift button as the people regained themselves and made their way towards both her and her unnamed male ally. Finally the doors to the lift burst open, and a man inside lunged at her friend with a shattered glass bottle. The neck was swung at her before jutted towards her friend's general direction.

She grabbed the man's attacking arm and elbowed his elbow so that it snapped. In pain the man twisted and lunged back towards her. She sidestepped and the bartender's glass bottle stabbed one of the member's necks.

She pushed her partner into the lift and pressed the ground floor button. As the doors shut she looked out through the glass and saw that the bartender had stabbed the DJ in the neck with the bottle. Blood squirted out of the cuts as the boy desperately tried to pick himself up, grasping at the balcony rails but slipping as his blood soaked fingers let go.

He could live, she reassured herself. The lift propelled downwards with quick speed before coming to a halt on the bottom level. The exit was unguarded but the members were desperately running down the stairs to get to them. There was only a split second of time they could jump at; a split second was all they could allow themselves to get to the exit.

A cold and bloodied blade pressed against her throat and halted her movement. Her friend had been ahead of her but now stopped to see what had caused her to stop running.

She looked up and saw a man with a broken face, a bald man drooling blood. His eye socket spitting up a reddish black fluid. How did he beat her down there? She asked herself, but the knife tightened in against her neck. She could feel the knife about to slice open her neck. If even a small incision was made, his blood already on the knife would mix with hers and she'd probably die from that.

She stepped back with her right foot, stepping into his. It didn't disarm him and instead pulled him into. The knife stung like a snake's bite. She was willing to embrace death if she had too, but she wouldn't. This was a 'hostage situation' yes, but it wasn't a deadly one. If he had to he would kill her without a doubt, but—

A gunshot was heard and interrupted her train of thought. She adapted, rolling forward as it happened. The pig faced man was still wrapped around her, but being rolled over the top of her received a bullet to the leg.

The two sprinted for the door glancing to see if the man was dead, he wasn't. The music was still playing and now she began to finally appreciate the beats. The doors to the exit opened wide and a cold gust of wind chilled her. She shivered.

The doors were closing, as they did the two stared back. Their attackers didn't follow. They knew they had lost. A million thoughts rushed through her head. What had started as a simple bar brawl turned into a gunfight within minutes. With the doors shut the music muffled and she felt the vibrations only through the floor now.

She had noticed that she was panting. Cardio, it was her strength and weakness. She was deadly fast, but struggled to keep sprinting with a stable stamina. She turned to her right, the boy who had fought alongside her was leaning against the wall. He too was panting.

She looked outwards and saw all the patrons that had been evacuated. They were all staring at the two, she gave a nervous smile and they all seemed to smile back.

By the time the two had regained their breaths many of the patrons had taken cabs off the premises. No one had followed the two out, they knew that if the police were involved it would be all the club's members that would take the fall.

'So, that cigarette?' he asked her.

She pulled the lighter out again and set up the flame. The wind blew it back down again. The boy awkwardly held out his hand again, chewing on the end of his cigarette. Instead she approached him and covered the cigarette with her left hand, lighting it with her right. She fell flustered at how close she was to him.

Once the cigarette was alight she turned away.

'I only live a short distance away.' He offered.

'Sorry?'

'I own like a paradise apartment, glass walls overlooking the city. Tonight you could be a lucky guest who gets to spent at least one night inside.'

She giggled. When she realised how foolish she sounded she coughed. Girls are giggly, you're a lady, she reminded herself.

'So, where is this paradise apartment?' she asked him.

He pointed over the edge of the club and up to a skyscraper not far off. He pointed to the apartment, which was not much higher than where the club was situated. The apartment did overlook the club, it would be a spectacular view. It began to rain, so he stood around her so she was close to the wall. Like a gentleman he protected her from the rain.

'So, you got a name?' he asked.

He was still waiting for an answer as he lit another cigarette. He blew a puff into the air and it swirled in the wind. As soon as he'd lit it he flicked the cigarette away.

She replied, '…it's Church. And you can keep the lighter.'

'Got a first name, Church?'

**'People Love Grapes' Bar, Minnesota, Earth**

The music playing was a load of shit.

'Turn that crap off, Earl.' Yelled a man at the bar.

He was sick to shit of this new pop crap being played on the damn radio. It all sounded the same to him. First it was Emmel Ryder singing 'Disco Dreams', then it was SamnXess the German boy band singing songs that no one understood. Where the hell was Earl.

'Hey Earl, you alive back there?' he joked.

He took another swig of his beer. The liquor was just what he needed to calm his nerves. Tonight would be the night, the night he got his revenge on that dipshit who stole his girl. He was waiting for the redneck 'Scott'. He expected the man to roll on in higher then life.

Behind him a bell chimed, he looked back. As the door swung open a man with glasses waltzed in, an African American behind him. Neither of them were Scott. All he needed was time.

I'm not generally a violent person, he told himself. But stealing my girl is an act of war.

He turned back towards the two patrons that entered. They didn't look local, but then again neither was he. This didn't seem their place. They looked like egg heads from here, UNSC scientists or whatnot.

Then the bell chimed again. He turned suddenly and watched Scott enter. Worried he'd just been busted he turned back towards the bar. He was quiet, listening to that Pop stuff again. God did he want to yell for Earl. But the blasted manager was nowhere to be found.

The lump of a man sat himself on the stool beside him. He looked around, recognizing him.

'Hey, look who it is!' Scott began.

'Fuck off.'

'I did, to your girlfriend.' He spat.

'That doesn't even make sense, but I guess it would to an illiterate such as yourself.'

The lump sat back in his chair. Slammed a glass onto the bar before standing up. He waved his arms about as if deranged and began to rile up the crowd. He was surely drunk, or just an idiot… or both.

'Hear that?' he began. 'This asshole right over here just called us all illinants!'

Idiot, _illiterates_ not _illinants_! He stood, grabbing his bottle of beer. As the man began to twirl around like a ballerina on crack, he punched him square in the face. Scott fell back, his head bouncing off a vertical wooden pillar connecting the floor to the roof. As he fell back, he slammed the glass bottle into his mouth.

Scott's lips were sliced open in several places, he began to scream.

'Bill me next time, Earl.' He shouted as he began to stroll out the bar.

Suddenly he felt to hands cup his shoulders before pulling him back and swinging him around the room. He was practically thrown onto a table, the very same table occupied by the two men that interested him before.

'Hi there, the name's Ryan.' He introduced himself.

The man with glasses nodded and the man beside him held out a hand. But before Ryan could reply the handshake he was thrown back once more. He spun around, his face slamming into the very same pole he'd beaten Scott with.

'You know, we'be been togeva' for years now.' Scott tried to say, his lips tearing open wider with each word.

His attempts to speech struck a nerve. The bitch cheated on me? He thought.

Like a mountain lion he pounced on his prey. He threw Scott onto another patron's table. Upon impact the table cracked a small hole was made where the lump of a man's head was pushed through.

He punched him again and again until he would get up no more.

'What the hell is this!?' came a voice from behind the bar.

Ryan glanced but continued to beat him down again and again. The man was Earl.

'Stop that! Ryan, get the fuck out of my bar!' he yelled.

Scott's face was a mess. Yellow and blue bruises already forming. Ryan stopped.

'Don't worry Earl. I'm done here.'

'Nup,' the manager stopped him. 'You're done. I'm calling the cops.'

'No! That won't be necessary.' Came a voice, a southern accent. 'By order of the UNSC I order you to stay as you are.' It was the man with glasses. 'You, come have a drink with us.'

**'Vancouver Zero'** **Medical Facility, Canada, Earth**

When she came to her vision was blurred. White flooded her eyes and she had wondered whether she had passed overnight. She didn't want to die, but had accepted that it was a possibility right from the time she was brought here. This was the third time she had awoken since she was hospitalized a month ago, as far as she could remember.

Around her the hospital life buzzed. Beeps of computers and medical equipment could be heard, groaning patients winged, doctors rushed between patients and surgeons yelled out seeking assistance. Yet all was hidden behind the green curtains surrounding her bed.

She looked into her arm and noticed the tube, a blood bag connecting to a tube had been feeding her of life juice. Was the tube in her last time? She couldn't remember. She sank back into her pillow and tried to sleep again. Again she began to fear, there was always a possibility that she wouldn't wake up.

Looking around the room she noticed the clipboard. On it a sheet containing a list of prescribed medicines, medical conditions and surgeries that she had undergone after her accident. The curtains rustled and the doctor entered. He was a different doctor than her previous one, but his white lab coat made him unmistakable.

'Sarah Chantelle?' he asked as he picked up another clipboard at the end of the bed.

'Yes.' She spoke in her usual French accent.

'Are we awake today?' the doctor grinned.

'Barely. Have you ever been hit by a shotgun, monsieur?'

The doctor chuckled. 'Why no I have not. But I can imagine it would not be comfortable.'

'They say I have to go into zero gravity surgery tomorrow.'

'And why is that?'

'You are the doctor, you tell me!' she said confused.

'I'm sorry if I implied that, Sarah, but I am not the doctor.'

She sat up, panicked. 'You are not the doctor?!'

'Calm down,' he began. 'I am _a_ doctor but I am not _the _doctor.'

She looked around the room. Was this man dangerous? What did he want with her? Questions weren't the problem, and they certainly weren't the solution. Where was the staff call button?

'What do you want with me?' she asked.

'I hear you are an excellent shot.'

'I _was_ an excellent shot.' She corrected. 'How do you think I ended up in this place?'

'Oh, I know how you ended up in this place. I am also aware of your… _other_ talents.'

She searched him, hoping to find what he meant. His bright green eyes were not easy to read, especially not behind the large round glasses that allowed her to misinterpret what he was saying.

'Other talents,' he continued without waiting for her. 'such as lock picking. You could be our infiltration specialist.'

'Oui, I am good at breaking in to places. But I am a better shot than I am an infiltration artist.' She explained. 'I can hit an elk in the eye from half a mile away with no obstacles nine times out of ten.'

'Oh we are very aware of how skilled you are.'

'_We_, who do you mean by _we_?'

'Me and my associate. He is waiting outside, ensuring that we are not interrupted.' He continued.

'What do I get out of helping you?' she asked him, intrigued now by the point he was trying to make.

'A way out, a way out of a criminal life.'

She thought for a moment. 'I'll consider.'

'That is good enough for me. Counselor!' he called out behind the curtains.

Suddenly a second man entered Sarah quarters armed with a syringe and jabbed it into her left arm just below where the tube entered under her skin. The pain seared at first throughout her arms but then spread with her veins, coursing throughout her body. Soon all consciousness left her and she fell into darkness. Asleep.

**Buckingham Palace, England, Earth**

The shot was lined up beautifully. The old bugger's bald head was centered in his crosshairs. He couldn't imagine anything better than this paycheck. All he had to so was squeeze the trigger between fingers. The old man's brains would be splattered all over the carriage doors.

At the moment the politician was walking alongside the Queen's horse drawn carriage. He was accompanying her out towards the palace gates. It was just outside the palace where the people stood, crowds of hundreds gathered to watch the two shake hands. Pathetic.

A professional assassin always hides out of plain sight, everyone knew that. And that was exactly why he was sniping from a public park. The Queen's royal guard were searching the rooftops, the civilians were all crowded around the palace. He was well hidden. Hidden within a bush under a blanket was where he was perched. He looked like a tramp.

Then he realised that he'd almost forgot the most obvious thing. He'd forgotten to check wind. At this distance, with this kind of resistance, the wind would likely carry the bullet half a meter in the wrong direction. He considered a moment of a path he could take. Fire the bullet off target to be carried with the wind? Or wait until the wind died down?

'Come on, think, think.'

As it turned out he didn't need to wait for the wind to die down. As the carriage began to turn (as if making a circle) he could clearly see that the wind was being halted. In the cover of the carriage the target waited for the horses to complete their turn. The wind was now off his face and the target scratched his bald head.

He squeezed the trigger, not angling the crosshair off the target whatsoever. Bam! And a second later the man's brains painted the walls of the Queen's carriage. In the background after the sound of the gunshot cleared, distant screams could be heard. The Royal Guards rushed to surround and protect the Queen's carriage which retreated behind BuckinghamPalace. Fools, they had no idea that Queen Isabella wasn't the target.

He lifted the blanket up off of his head and left the scene immediately. Luckily there were no civilians to witness him in the park. The street was another matter entirely. He had left the sniper rifle in the park, surely the military would pick it up later. It was a low quality gun anyway. He had worn leather chaps to hide his fingerprints. And the gun itself had been modified to accept three different ammunition types, none of which were available to purchase on Britain's Black Market and one of which was used to kill the asset.

Dressed from head to toe in a drifter's dust coat and rags he fled the park. Black smudges of dirt hid his face, his (real) thick moustache covering part of his mouth. He his short brown hair under a beanie. He looked to be about thirty to forty years old, and that was without all the makeup.

Running through the streets he brushed past several people, some of which must have recognized he could have been the killer. Many of those who had witnessed the victim's head spontaneously erupting were likely still around Buckingham.

Continuing down the main road he tried to remember his escape route. He realised though, that he hadn't at all left the sniper rifle at the scene. In a moment of adrenaline soaked action he had slid the rifle into a small leather bag and slung it over his back. To most it must have looked like a pair of golf clubs, 'civvies' must have thought he'd stolen them.

He remembered that about three or four blocks away was a side street. He couldn't recall the name of the side street but he remembered its name reminded him of his nephew's pet goldfish. …his late nephew's pet goldfish. …actually, his late nephew's even later pet goldfish. He wasn't far now. In the distance he could hear the sounds of sirens. Police or Ambo? He couldn't tell.

One thing was for certain, if he didn't back to his apartment before eleven he'd– The assassin toppled over, crashing into two tourists walking the opposite direction from where he came.

'Watch where you're going!' he said.

'I should say the same to you.' Replied one of the tourists, who through his accent showed that he was clearly American. …either that or Welsh (he could never tell the difference).

Pushing through he continued until the back street was in his sight. He sidestepped down the street that sat only two and a half metres wide. He spotted a dumpster in the alleyway and a pile of cardboard boxes beside it. The sirens grew louder and he could tell that they were after him. Immediately he ditched the rifle into the dumpster and dropped down into the cardboard boxes. It was there that he waited.

It was only a matter of hours before he returned to his apartment. He took off his beanie and let the room's air conditioner blow air through his hair. The building was quiet and warm, usually. On this instance however it had felt less homely. In another room of the apartment he heard a light tapping. Someone had to have been in the apartment with him.

He casually strolled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Within a small zip lock bag on the top shelf was a small pistol. He opened the bag and pulled it out before suddenly swiveling around and aiming it at a man seated on a stool behind him.

'You don't want to do that.' The man said.

Suddenly the assassin pulled on the trigger three times. Nothing. He pulled on it more. Nothing.

'Really? Isn't it a little cliché to hide your gun in the fridge?' asked another man.

He had not noticed the second person seated behind the man on the stool. The second was seated on a couch in the lounge, a room connected and entirely a part of the kitchen where he was. They had taken the ammo.

The assassin chuckled.

'Ha, so what do you want with me?' he said now turning away from the two intruders casually and making his way towards the toaster.

'We got that one too, the gun I mean.' Said the first, a man with glasses.

'What do you mean? I just wanted toast.'

He opened a plastic bag concealing a loaf of bread but dropped it and spontaneously grasped the toaster. He swung the metal object around and lobbed it towards the man on the couch. The man dove off and the old man in the chair… well he stood, pulled out a magnum and aimed it at the assassin. Magnum, UNSC standard issue. This man was a man of the military.

'UNSC? What do you want?' he said angrily.

'Your expertise.' He began. 'That was a good shot you fired. You were very thorough.'

The assassin began thinking, where could he go next? There were more guns around the kitchen but he wondered which ones these men had confiscated.

'One on the shelves, one in the oven, two in the pantry, three in the cupboards, one in the fruit bowl and another behind the microwave.' He said as if he could read the assassin's mind.

'Excellent.' The assassin chuckled. 'But there's one place you didn't check.'

Suddenly he pulled out a silenced pistol that had been tucked in behind his pants. With his left hand he disarmed the man with glasses. He fired upon the two but no bullets left the gun.

'We've been watching you for a while.' Said the man with the glasses.

And then it occurred to him, these two men he had seen before. He had seen them in the street as he fled the police after the last assassination.

'Join us.' Said the man who seconds before he'd thrown a toaster at.

'Sorry chaps, I'd love to but I'm terribly busy. I've still got another name on my list. The money is big on this one, Scottish lassie by the name of–'

'We can pay.' Interrupted the old man. 'We can pay you as if you did complete it and pay you that same price for every month you work for us.'

Now he was interested.

He held out his hand.

'You can call me Reginald.'

**'Briar Rose' UNSC Training Facility, CLASSIFIED LOCATION**

He pulled the trigger again, and again, and again until there was no ammo left in his gun. He'd hit the target one time, one time out of the fifteen times he'd tried. He couldn't use handguns for shit! A rifle, now that was a weapon.

'Raise you fucking arm!' the drill sergeant screamed.

So he did. But again it did not work. If he just had a god damned rifle he would be able to hit the son of a bitch every time.

'Don't lock your knees, spastic! He yelled again.

'Your back's tense! Untense your fucking back!' was the next order

'Lower your arm! I told you to lower your arm! You are a fucking waste of my time!'

That god damned drill sergeant had been driving him for days. He didn't _need_ a secondary weapon, he was careful with his ammo and only needed to use his rifle. A DMR any day could do more damage than this shitty pistol. Hell, even a Battle Rifle would be easier!

The rookie placed the gun on the table. He was at the firing range, and considered using the weapon on the drill sergeant. He could say that he accidentally shot the mentor because he mistook him for a dummy. The resemblance was uncanny, for one they both had fat heads. Two, they were only good for soaking up small pieces of metal.

He turned and left the firing range, still under the cover and heading towards the main bunker. Behind him his asshole instructor was shouting something, but he couldn't care less about what it was.

Entering the bunker he was relieved at the fresh cool air that blew against his face. He had just taken off his helmet, his hair soaked in sweat under his helmet. Outside it was scorching hot, but it was better under cover and even better _inside_ the base. He let out a sigh, a fresh breath of cold air.

He stepped past a pair of marines. Their armor, like his, was dark green. It was standard issue UNSC gear. He wondered at first why _he_ had to wear a heavy helmet at a safe location and none of the other marines did. But then he remember: the drill sergeant was a asshole.

A hand grasped at his shoulder and pulled him down. Before he knew it the world went dark and he noticed his helmet was gone.

'Shhh, shut up!' a woman's voice.

'Wh—th—ell… uh' he tried to yell but she held his mouth closed.

He was being held in a head lock, and felt his back pushed up against something hard – like armor. He felt safe, like as if she was saving him. He recognized himself to be in a broom closet as his eyes adjusted in the darkness. The only external source of light came from the slits in the door looking out into the highway where he had just been standing.

He could see his helmet on the floor. Two marines merely walked over it, a third trailing behind did not. He stopped and bent over, staring at the helmet for a short time before looking towards the closed drawer of the broom closet.

He opened it wide.

'Oh, son of a bit—' he began to say before the girl dove out of the closet, swinging a large knife in the direction of the marine. The knife impaled the curious marine's neck, blood pouring out across the hallway.

The rookie stood in shock. The woman was beautiful, and right before him had just slaughtered an innocent person. She couldn't be a good guy, she just killed a member of the UNSC. Her long blonde hair trailed behind her head as she looked up and down the hallway. Hanging from her hips were more of the blades, many more of the blades. All had a heart symbol cutout in the spine of them, a clear decorative figure.

Her armor was not of the UNSC, but a white UNSC logo was painted to her chest piece. Her armor was red with a black secondary color and detail. Painted on her chest was also a pair of pink lips centered within a dark red heart.

'Quit staring.' She said, not taking her eyes off both exits of the hallway.

'I wasn't, just… who are you?' asked the Rookie.

'Your savior.'

'Does my savior have a name?'

'Do you?' she asked.

'No. Now answer my question.' He said, concerned with her _need_ of information.

'Call me Girlie.' She replied before stopping.

Suddenly an ear piercing alarm rang across the base. It was the alarm they normally rang for Covenant Attack. But this was no attack, at least not by the covenant. When the covenant attacked there was also supposed to be a lockdown. There was no lockdown. The UNSC did not expect to be attacked from the inside.

Girlie pulled out what seemed to be a Magnum and pulled on the rookie. Then she began to run. She made her way down the hallway, the rookie close behind her. At a point where the hallway met another she looked left and right. She fired two shots to the right and a third to the left before continuing forward.

As he caught up, the rookie saw corpses strewn down the hallways to his left and right where he'd seen Girlie fire. Blood had been sprayed across the walls. He was not far from the exit before he noticed he'd lost sight of the 'Girlie' person. He had assumed she had been leading him to the exit but that was far from right.

He had approached the front reception when he heard gunfire. It had come from behind him, behind him was where the enemy was. Three UNSC guards had begun wandering down the hallway to him with large bulletproof riot shields up. Girlie was nowhere to be found.

'I surrender!' yelled the Rookie upon realizing he had wanted none of this to happen.

He held up his hands but instead of stopping each of the guards raised their handguns. His end would have come to a close it that frag grenade hadn't landed at their feet. From somewhere hidden Girlie had lobbed a hand grenade at the guards. A second later a red mist filled the room like a fog, the riot shields were the only acknowledgement that UNSC personnel had just been standing there.

He wandered into the mist, carefully wading through the smoke and rubble caused by the explosion and the puddles of blood already forming. It was through the smoke that he saw Girlie once more. She took no notice of him and was aiming down yet another hallway to his right.

When he approached her she slapped him.

'You idiot! Follow me. They'd no doubt have a firing line waiting for us out the front.' She lectured.

'What? How is this my fault? I didn't even want to leave!'

'I'm not blaming you, asshole! We were heading for the back entrance!'

The rookie thought for a moment. He had wandered Rose's military halls scores of times…_hundreds_ of times. There was no other way out, except for the hangar. But the hangar only allowed for Vertical Takeoff.

'There is no other exits.' He corrected her at last.

She ignored him and pulled on his arm again. She leapt out of the rubble she had caused with the grenade and headed in the direction she was aiming. He hadn't noticed it before but there was a large green 'EXIT' sign above the door. The rookie was dumbstruck.

Two UNSC soldiers outflanked them, appearing at the rear. Girlie pushed the rookie's back against the wall and began firing on the soldiers. The rookie swung the door open to find a UNSC soldier waiting for them. He was armed with a DMR and at such close range (less then five feet) a single shot was likely to kill him.

The world seemed to move in slow motion, but it was still not enough time to make a decision. Dive out of the way or shoot? Live or die? The trouble was working out which approach would lead to which outcome. In an instant his decision was made for him. A fountain of blood erupted from the soldier's left eye socket and spouted all over the rookie's armor.

As the soldier fell the rookie noticed another soldier, red and black like Girlie, in the distant. He was outside. The grey rocky landscape reminded him of where he was. The large wooden fence surrounding this exit reminded him that he was a prisoner. The large cylindrical pipe that cleared through the fence reminded him that there was hope. The pipe was pouring out green waste and it was through the other side that he could see the red and black soldier seated in the driver's seat of a warthog.

Behind him Girlie pushed past, this was just as the hog arrived and ran down a small section of the towering fence. This soldier was wearing a helmet unlike Girlie. His helmet seemed to belong to an ODST.

'Better late than never, Archer.' Girlie said to him.

That was when the rookie noticed the large retractable longbow around the neck of the soldier. Looking back at the man he'd killed he noticed the large pointed arrow jutting out of the UNSC soldier's eye.

Girlie pulled herself up onto the heavy machine gun turret of the warthog.

'This the one?' asked Archer to Girlie.

'Yep.'

'You sure you chose the right one?' he asked her.

'Listen, I've been watching him for weeks.'

'Hey, Rookie.' Archer said now turning his attention towards the marine still in his greens. 'Are you coming or what?'

Soon the rookie brought himself to the warthog before vaulting into the passenger's seat. 'Shotgun' was where he felt comfortable, he was a skilled navigator. However, he didn't know the destination. He felt—

'You son-of-a-bitch!' came a man's voice from the doorway that Girlie had just come from.

It was the drill sergeant.

'I will fuck you up!' he yelled.

A large ear ringing sound echoed through the rookie's ears. Upon raising his head he witnessed the mowing down of his old mentor. Hundreds of bullets left the heavy machine gun, cutting through the already wounded sergeant. Blood splashed across the ground with each shot. If the bullets didn't kill him, blood loss would have. Then, after about twenty seconds of endless fire one bullet did pierce his skull. The sergeant was finally put out of his misery – though the rookie felt he deserved what was coming to him.

'Come on, we gotta hurry. Sleeves is preparing the Hornet and we gotta be there in ten.' Spoke Archer before the three disappeared into the mountainous wasteland around them.

**'People Love Grapes' Bar, Minnesota, Earth**

The cool night breeze blew Jackson's hair back across his face. He and Thom had been best friends since they were young'uns. Now they were back on Earth, back on Minnesota and working as bouncers for a bar.

Recently the bar had been badly damaged by, what the manager called 'a psycho and his military friends.' So the two had been posted at _People Love Grapes _in order to prevent the incident from occurring again.

'So, you watched the game yet?' asked Thom.

'No. How could I? I've been right here.' Jackson replied.

'Oh really? So during that bathroom break you didn't try to check the scores?'

'Bitch.'

A gunshot was heard, like a loud clap coming from between the two bouncers. Jackson wondered whether his friend had noticed it but upon turning realised it was obvious. Two more gunshots rang out.

Thom pushed through the bar's doors first pulling out a revolver that the manager had lent him. Jackson soon followed but was interrupted by another two gunshots. One of which burst out into the stomach of Thom.

'No, Thom!' Jackson called as his friend fell backwards onto the streets.

Instead of checking on the bar's patrons and preventing the shooting from escalating he turned to check on his friend. A heavy something fell onto the back of Jackson's head as he fell forward. A brick.

But he wasn't knocked out. On his knees beside his wounded and groaning best friend Jackson turned to see three men in black morph suits exiting the bar with garbage bags full to the brim with what could only be assumed to be cash – or the cash register.

Jackson fired but the gun did not work. It jolted forwards but no bullets actually left the gun. Turning it on it's side he noticed the bullet jam. The delay caused one of the thieves to notice him and aim another gun at him. Jackson rolled back and kicked the knee of his attacker inwards dislocating it instantly.

The second of the three robbers then turned and fired at Jackson. The first shot missed but the second ricocheted off the gravel and clipped his shoulder. In retaliation (and reflex) Jackson through his revolver at his attacker. The gun bounced off the thief's head and rendered him unconscious.

The final thief aimed the gun at Jackson but then dropped it and ran, a coward. Another gunshot rang out and deafened Jackson for a short time. The wounded and likely dying Thom had fired another shot into the spine of the final thief. If the thief wasn't dead he'd at least be paralyzed.

He wanted to faint.

Everything went black.

Then white again as he turned towards his friend.

His friend was unconscious – at least he hoped it was only unconsciousness – but again the light left his eyes as the sound of repetitive sirens flooded his ears. Car doors slammed and the shouts of paramedics could be heard. Despite falling asleep, despite not seeing Jackson could paint a clear image of what was happening purely by sound.

A southern American voice called to him.

'You are going to be okay Jackson, we will look after you here.'

_Here_? Where was _here_?

**Ionohai Temple, Japan, Earth**

There was a hint of roast in the air. Something meaty was being cooked in the distance, it smelled good. He wanted to eat it, he wanted to eat _all_ of it. All day he had slaved away in his office, for twelve hours he sat at his computer and programmed tasks and scripts for his other employees.

His family hated his job, it was 'shameful'. His family lived at the TempleIonohai where they trained other Japanese citizens to fight like warriors in respect to the fallen samurai who had died centuries before. His family, a wealthy one, were the leaders of a legacy that kept family names alive.

His father was Korean and his mother was Japanese. His mother's father was the mentor warrior at Ionohai. Grandfather Truong was his teacher. In recent years his family had set him up so that mentor Truong could train him to fight. But he was no good, he was the worst of the Ionohai warriors. An opposing family led by a ninja warrior named Xiao Ma were his family's only enemy.

Xiao Ma led the White Talon a group of terrorists, cutthroats and thieves working under a cult name to bring the downfall of his family. Xiao Ma was as old as the young apprentice's father had been; in fact, Xiao Ma had brought the death of his Korean father.

Continuing home down the main road he thought at first about his work and then to his IT classroom where he was taught advanced engineering in the way of computer consoles and networks. He thought back to TempleIonohai. They were two very different worlds.

His office and classroom where smelly, small and enclosed. The Temple was a large expanse of land filled with lakes, ponds, beautiful gardens, training warriors, families in ritualistic robes and large dojos and houses extremely reminiscent of the ancient samurai temples.

The smell again filled his nostrils. It was unusual for the Ionohai warriors to be cooking such nice meals. Their ideology was based around living off the land. But the roast, it smelled so good. Looking to his left the temple rooftops could be seen over the row of small shops running along the main road. Any minute he'd arrive at Ionohai and find out the source of the cooked meat. Beef? Lamb? Pork? Chicken? It was an unfamiliar aroma but one he had accepted nonetheless.

Around him the small crappy shops were all closed. One closer to the temple entrance had its windows shattered. He was appalled, what had once been a peaceful neighborhood was changing and not for the better. Smoke filled his nostrils accompanying the smell, he choked and for a moment lost his breath. Darkness grabbed at him until he collapsed on the ground.

What seemed like hours (but had only been minutes) passed and he awoke. He was facing the Temple's entrance now. The sky had changed from a dull grey to a strong red. The clouds reflected a purple color as lights began to flash off of it. The good smell had become stronger and far more overpowering.

He entered the temple grounds.

The colorful plant life, burnt to ash.

The temples and houses, on fire and crumbling.

The ponds and lakes, now red with the bleeding corpses who had fallen within.

TempleIonohai had fallen. Around him he saw families on fire and samurai warriors defending civilians. Men completely covered in black, ninjas, traveled throughout the place cutting down anyone who wasn't one of their own. They fired crossbow bolts and slashed at enemies with the sabers and knives. It was a bloodbath. Ninjas ran across rooftops and flipped off buildings. Others burned the dead, the elderly and the young. That good smell of cooked animal…

It wasn't animal…

He looked around desperately and found his mentor Truong on a bridge hanging over one of Ionohai's lakes. He was surrounded but was not fighting. Instead none of the ninja warriors attacked him. Then one of the ninjas removed his mask, a man of forty was revealed underneath. He unsheathed a cutlass he had hung from his back.

The cutlass was unmistakably familiar. The man wielding it was Xiao Ma.

The apprentice screamed and ran towards the enemy master. Xiao Ma swung his sword upwards and disarmed Truong before spinning around and slicing open the elder's belly.

'No!' the apprentice screamed.

Something hard and metallic flicked at his ankle and he fell to the ground. A crossbow bolt had clipped his foot and tripped him up. Looking back he noticed another of the fifty something ninjas. He was perched atop a rooftop with a crossbow in his hands. A red laser pointer showed that the warrior had hit exactly where he had aimed.

'The Unnamed Warrior of the White Talon' was what the people of Japan called this one. The crossbowman was the White Talon's champion. He never missed. So the boy tried to stand and looked up, surprised to find Xiao Ma towering over him.

'Long time no see, you pathetic shit.' Spat the warrior through closed teeth.

Before standing he grasped for a fallen samurai warrior's sword. Holding it in the enclosed palm of his hand he readied himself to parry a strike from the White Talon leader.

The leader opened with a chuckle before laughing more harshly.

'You? You are coming up against me? You are no fighter. You are a disgrace!' he yelled in plain English.

It was true. The apprentice had been the worst fighter in his family, and the worst fighter the world had probably seen. Last time Xiao Ma infiltrated the Temple, Truong held Ma back. One Talon however nearly sliced Truong's throat, when the apprentice tried to save him it was too late. The ninja warrior merely pushed him down and tried to drive a needle into his gut. The wounded Truong however saved him.

The apprentice in anger, upon remembering the death of his mentor, lunged at the master Ma and caught the towering man off guard. Ma dropped his sword and the apprentice brought down his own sword, the blade hit the ninja's hand and sliced most of the flesh off at the wrist. Blood squirted from it and pushed the apprentice's blade back out. So he swung again but this time the black hit him closer to the elbow. The impact was so heavy that the last thread of skin hanging from the wrist tore and Xiao Ma's hand dropped to the ground.

The Unnamed Warrior of the White Talon fired another crossbow bolt. The bolt clipped his shoulder this time and pushed him to the ground once more. This time by a pond. He was on his back, his hair soaking in the lake and his body limp from the extremely brief dual. Around him the fires rose and he wondered, he hoped that the fire would eventually take him too.

**Mark Nutt's Casino, Perth, Australia**

Bling bling bling. Boh-bow. Rioooh, rioooh. Bling bling. Bwwwwoeep. Bwoooeep. Eeeeohhh. Eeeohh. Bling bling caching!

Ah, the language of the casino. A series of bleeps and bloops, sirens and wails. It is the language of money. But that's not why he was here oh, no. He was here for the high stakes game. The _high_ stakes game. Last time was here he…oh, no hang on. He hadn't actually played at Nutt's before. He was just thinking about the time he had won 50,000 chips while smashed on tequila. No, that was in Sydney…or was it Melbourne. No he _had_ gotten hammered at Melbourne, and at Sydney, and at Broome, Alice Springs, Darwin…

After passing the thousands of unlucky gamblers in the main complex he found the red curtains covering another doorway. A long outstretched hallway took him to a door guarded by a large and bald white man in a suit.

'Password?' he asked calmly.

'Nevada's principles ain't no city of mine.'

The man stepped aside and let him in. Within was a small and cramped room lit only by a hanging light. A wooden table with what appeared to be green synthetic grass was rolled over the top. Six men were playing Poker when he entered.

'Who are you?' one asked.

'I think you're lost, mate.' Another asked.

He sat at the final empty seat and replied. 'Sit down and shut up. I'm playing.'

The other players were stunned and did just as he said. He had picked up chips from the front counter. 6,000 to start himself off. The games began, and did not last long.

'Howzat one!' one of the gamblers asked, clearing 400 chips with a pair of kings.

'Shit yeah!' said another as he cleared 250 with a pair of threes.

'_Fiiiiiiisshh!_' screamed one of the other patrons who won 2,000 chips off a royal flush.

'You're going down, new boy.' Said another who cleared 1,300 of the gamblers chips from a full house.

He was getting cleared out. But it was his turn to serve and he had a good ol' trick up his sleeve. And by trick he meant an Ace of Hearts and a Jack of Hearts which he'd smuggled in.

Soon he was left holding a two of spades and a six of spades. Upon the table sat a Jack of Hearts, a Queen of Hearts and a Ten of Hearts. Soon a King of Hearts was flipped over. It was if it was meant to be. He pulled his neck back as if to crack it and lowered his cards below the table. From under his sleeve he released his Ace of Hearts and Jack of Hearts and swapped them for what he had.

'You fucking cheat!' yelled one of the gamblers.

He was caught off guard and looked down into his suit jacket sleeve only to find one of the cards still sticking out.

'You fucking, fucking cheat!' he yelled again.

There was no excuse he could use that wouldn't get him killed in this situation.

One of the men pulled a gun as everyone stood. The gambler grabbed the shooter head and slammed it into the table before kicking the table over and into another of the patrons. A third dove at him but the gambler ducked before elbowing him in the throat once he'd hit the ground. Two more threw decks of cards at him as a distraction. One blind kick into the cloud of Hearts, Clubs, Spades and Diamonds managed to clip another patron and make him collapse. As the last of the cards fell he noticed only one other patron standing. The attacker punched towards him. Instead the gambler countered in, elbowing his enemy's elbow and dislocating it. He pulled him past and threw him towards the wall and watched as he collided.

He began looting the unconscious bodies for wallets and spare change. Instead of taking the cash out he merely put whole wallets into his pockets. He found the body of the gunman and pulled out a silenced pistol. He pulled off the silencer and threw it behind him towards a wall.

He continued to loot the bodies when he heard the door creak. Blindly he fired once behind him and searched some more. A second later there was a loud thud, it was most likely the body of the door guard. Grabbing the last of the cash he turned towards the door. He didn't know if there was going to be resistance but he should at least be prepared. He wouldn't kill an innocent, just scare them.

So he marched out into the lobby guns ablazing.

**'The Hole', The Red Waste, Vevalon IX**

He had escaped, he had been so sure he was free. He had pulled open the bolted titanium door and crawled out of the dungeon he had been concealed within. He opened the door to the exit and breathed in cold air before he was knocked out again.

They had been toying with him. He had been locked in this bunker's cell for six months! He was a sniper for the UNSC before he was kidnapped by Vevalon IX loyalists. These loyalists went rogue and locked him inside this mudbrick bunker.

When he escaped they tortured him, they beat him until he was numb both inside and out. He was sitting in the corner of his dungeon, black beard knotty and hair in tatters. His white rag for clothing was stained and his chest and back where scarred all over from being beaten by barb wire wrapped clubs.

From the other side of the door he heard a loud crash and gunfire. More psychological torture, or just more hallucinations. The rogues had drugged him so much with home 'brewed' heroine he couldn't think straight. He had become desensitized, and hadn't even been injected for a month. But still he dreamt and still he wanted to die.

The metal door burst open and the marine crawled into the corner of the room.

Men and women, soldiers, in silver armor and ODST helmets burst in and found him. Five entered and many more passed the halls outside of his hall.

'We have him, sir.' Said one of them to no one in particular.

The prisoner was dragged out of the cell down the halls. He watched as these men in silver gunned down the loyalist's rogue against a wall. Execution was a terrible thing he had been forced to bear witness to. And even his saviors were doing it. This was not justice.

Outside the silhouettes of two figures approached, two figured in the red dust clouds of the red waste. They were not in armor, but in clothing that he could not see.

'There you are.' One said.

**En route to a CLASSIFIED Destination...**

**Several Weeks Later…**

Pelican's were the coolest of all the spacecraft in the UNSC inventory. They were heavy dropships designed to drop off marines into battle locations. He stroked his spiked brown hair and looked at the others around him.

There was an elite soldier dressed in yellow armor, two dressed entirely in white, three dressed entirely in blue, one dressed in brown and green camouflage colors and himself who wore Khaki armor. His girlfriend, the fine gal with the long red hair wore blue armor like the other three. They were nine elite soldiers in the back of a dropship with no idea where they were going.

Ever since he'd met her at Club Errera he couldn't take his eyes off her, they were here together and would die together. They were going to war.

'Where are we actually going?' he finally asked the pilot.

'You'll soon find out.' A woman replied.

In what was nearing a three hour flight he had not noticed once that the pilot silver armor was a woman. And apparently some of the other soldiers hadn't either.

'Oh my god, you're a woman?' asked one of the soldiers, surprised. He spoke with an Australian accent.

'I hadn't noticed at all!' spoke a British person seated beside the Australian.

'And why does it matter if she is a woman?' asked his girlfriend at last.

'Why does it matter?' asked the Australian as if it was rhetorical.

'It doesn't.' said the man in the fancy yellow armor.

'Women don't matter?' asked another of the soldiers in blue. She was a woman with a heavy French accent.

'Quit your bitching back there! We're coming in!' yelled the pilot.

The Pelican shook violently as it approached it's docking point (wherever that was exactly was unclear).

The soldiers stepped out of the Pelican once it landed on the space station. Many of the other soldiers were wearing helmets. Inside the space station were plenty of eagerly working mechanics and soldiers wearing the same silver armor that the professor's escorts had been wearing.

He knew he was now working for the UNSC, but this must have been a different branch entirely. Around him the space station was still being built. The essential mechanics had been installed as to allow oxygen to flow freely throughout the base. It wasn't perfectly but he predicted it was about 75% completed.

He looked back to the Pelican and watched as it took off, the pilot clearly not planning on waiting around.

Two figures approached, the one with glasses and the one who stood by his side. In basic training the soldiers had been briefed to call the one in glasses, their leader, 'The Director'. And the other was to be called 'Counselor'.

The soldiers stood at attention. And then he remembered, they weren't soldiers anymore they were…

'Welcome Agents, to Project Freelancer.' Said the Director.

The nine agents stood at attention and saluted.

'You all know me as The Director and my chief of staff as the Counselor. Today you will receive a fresh start as warriors for the UNSC.'

The Director stopped walking and stood still in front of his agents.

'FILSS,' he began 'please welcome our newest recruits.'

'Welcome Agents to Project Freelancer, I trust you will have an excellent time serving under the Project. I wish you luck.'

'Who is that?' asked a surprised soldier, one in white with an American accent.

'That is FILSS. She is our Artificial Intelligence that helps run the _Mother of Invention_. She is the: Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System.'

Her voice was comforting and he felt it would be easy to think of her as a real person. The Mother of Invention was rumored to be a prototype UNSC vessel that would lead the war against the Covenant. Recently the project had been ditched in order to make way for a new vessel the _Scepter_ _of Sharron_ or something like that. He was surprised but excited to find that the Mother of Invention was to be their flagship.

He couldn't help but wonder where the father of his girlfriend, who he would start calling The Director, got enough money to start a UNSC project in such short of time.

'Hi there.' Came a woman's voice.

Another soldier in silver approached the agents from behind the Counselor.

'Ah, Ashton meet our first recruits.' The Director smiled.

'Hi.'

'Hello.' The agents all replied in unison (though mainly the males).

The Director continued. 'Sarah Ashton is our chief mechanic aboard the Mother of Invention. You will get to know her over your time assisting Project Freelancer.'

The woman giggled and twirled the spanner she held in her hand.

'I trust you understand the naming mechanics for you Agents. In briefings we discussed a fresh start and a new identity. As of now your names mean nothing, you have none – but I am about to give you one. Each of you will be named after an American State.'

He had been clear on naming mechanics since the day he was recruited.

First the Director looked towards one of the agents in blue. She wore a Mark VI helmet, Security shoulder pads and a Scout Chest Plate. Her armor was a primary coloring of cobalt. Her secondary armor color was teal and she had aqua details on her right arm.

She was an expert shooter who had fled France after the 2042 revolution and hid out in Canada. It was in Canada she had been involved in a hunting accident that put her in a coma for days.

'Agent Alaska.'

The Director then shifted over to the next agent. An agent in Cyan armor with a Teal secondary colour and teal armor details. He wore a CQB Helmet and a CQB Chest Plate. He also had equipped the Recon left and right shoulder pads.

This Agent had been involved in a bar fight in Minnesota. He had one, an excellent fighter in hand to hand combat. He could also take a hit.

'Agent Rhode.'

The Director's gaze then turned to the third agent. A man in all white wearing a Mark VI helmet, shoulder pads and chest piece. He was a sniper, a British sniper. Rumor had it that this Agent was an assassin in his 'past life'. On the Pelican he had introduced himself as Reginald.

'Agent Wyoming.'

Next the Director turned to his girlfriend with the long red hair, the Director's daughter. It was clear the two were related on account of their green eyes. She wore Cyan coloured armor as her primary and secondary colours with white as her armor detail. She also wore a Rogue class helmet which she was currently carrying under her arm. Mark VI shoulder pads and a Mark VI chest piece is what she wore to protect herself.

Both he and her had fought alongside each other on Reach at Club Errera. She had proven herself to be a skilled fighter in battle but _he_ still had much to prove. And her father, an intimidating son-of-a-bitch, he was likely to have already proven himself with a gun in battle.

'Agent Carolina.'

Next the Director changed his gaze towards him, towards he who had been trying to work out what was going on since he first landed. He looked down at himself, at the Mark VI shoulder pads and Chest Piece and the Mark VI helmet he too carried under his arm. He was wearing Khaki armor with white armor detail.

'Agent York.'

Breaking a line of sight the Director turned to the person on York's right. He wore white armor with a pale secondary colour and khaki details. He wore a Mark VI helmet like most of the other agents but EVA shoulder pads and a Recon Chest plate.

This agent had been a bouncer at a bar before he was gunned down by robbers. His friend nearly died, as did he. In the Pelican he had introduced himself as Jackson. He seemed nice enough but it was too early to tell.

'Agent Utah.'

To Utah's right was the Freelancer with the fancy gold armor. He had been wearing a Hayabusa helmet, Hayabusa shoulder pads and a Hayabusa Chest Piece. Attached to his back was a sheathe concealing what appeared to be a sword or katana. He actually had a Gold primary colour and an Orange secondary colour with yellow details.

This agent had lost his entire family in a war with extremist super ninjas in Japan. He was only a kid and it had only been a few months, he barely survived. Since the death of his family he had trained endlessly to become a warrior in hopes of fulfilling a revenge. – but the guy was a hoot, he was hilarious and probably one of the nicest guys anyone would ever get to meet.

'Agent Iowa.'

Next the Director's gaze turned to the second last of the nine agents. The final agent wearing all blue. He wore a Mark VI helmet and EOD shoulder pads and chest plate. His armor's primary colour was Teal with a Blue secondary colour and Cobalt armor detail.

This Freelancer had been responsible for the Mark Nutt shootout. York never quite understood this, Mark Nutt was an English Archer; so why was there a shootout inside of him. The Agent was an Australian.

'Agent Nevada.'

The final Freelancer still stood at attention and patiently awaited his 'initiation by name'. He wore Sage armor with Brown secondary coloration and a brown detail on his right arm. He wore a unique Security helmet with a CQB right shoulder plate, Scout left shoulder plate and Recon chest piece.

He had been locked away for almost a year with little to no human contact other than a few torturers and interrogators who beat the man for fun. He had been one of the UNSC's most tactically skilled and stealthy snipers until he had been captured. Now he was free.

'And Agent Virginia.'

Sarah Ashton bowed once more before turning away, the Director followed. The Counselor neared the agents as they broke attention. It was time for their first briefing.

**'The Turtle', Pacific Ocean**

The Turtle was a massive ship, that's how Girlie had described it. From the sky it looked like a platform, a near flat top deck barely poking out of the water. But when it sunk…well it was a submersible.

'Where are we going?' the Rookie asked Archer.

Archer ignored him and wandered away into the captain's cabin. Girlie approached the Rookie and slapped his back.

'Don't worry, we're going to base.' She said as she flicked her blonde hair.

'I thought _The Turtle_ was our base?'

'Are you kidding,' she giggled 'this small thing? We're going to the others.'

'The _others_?' Rookie asked confused.

'Yeah, the others. So we can welcome you.'

'Welcome me to what?'

'Welcome you to the Insurrection.'

**-End**-


	3. Episode Two: Meet and Greet

**Red vs. Blue The Freelancer Archives**

**Episode Two: Meet and Greet**

**Longshore Shipyard**

The Rookie had left the Turtle with Girlie and Archer at least an hour ago. Wherever they were going was obviously secretive if the Turtle had to be left miles and miles away. But he didn't complain, he just sat alongside his two allies as the small motorboat blasted across the ocean. An Insurrection soldier had been steering the motor, Girlie was standing at the front with her helmet on and looking for land. Archer and Rookie sat across from each other seated on the floor of the boat.

'What the hell do you want?' asked Archer.

The Rookie hadn't realised he'd been staring at him.

'What? Huh, oh, ah nothing. Sorry.'

'Well quit staring, you're freaking me out.' Archer said.

'Would you guys quit it!' interrupted Girlie. 'We'll be there soon.'

About three hours before they'd left the Turtle the Insurrection named 'Sleeves' had departed. Rookie hadn't seen Sleeves yet, but apparently he was the biggest and deadliest of the Insurrection. Thinking of the future and what it might have in store for him he laid his head back and shut his eyes. All his energy left his body as he noticed sleep had come for him.

The boat rocked violently and woke the Rookie up. He panicked before realizing that meeting with this Insurrection wasn't a dream. He had also forgotten that he had changed armor. He recalled wearing the greens and greys of the UNSC, now he was wearing the same armor as Archer and Girlie. He wore armor with a red primary and black secondary. An ODST helmet covered his head.

Looking around him he noticed that the boat had come to a stop. It had docked at a pier off a large abandoned shipyard. This must have been the 'Longshore' that Girlie had spoken of on the Turtle.

A meeting party arrived to greet the Insurrectionists. There were three more of the average Insurrection soldiers, among them three more leaders dressed in red and black. The first was tall_ish_ and wielded a shotgun. A bandolier with shotgun shells crossed his chest. The second was the same size as Girlie and seemed to wield similar blades to her. The third was a large and muscular leader, he had thinner and sleeveless armor.

Rookie remembered Girlie explaining that each of the Insurrection leaders had a rank. Girlie was number three, Archer was number five. She had also said that if the single head of the Insurrection accepted the Rookie, then he would be number twenty.

'Is this him?' asked the man in the middle, the one armed with the shotgun.

'Yes Red ,this is him. You think I'd bring a random to our base?' Girlie replied smugly.

'Don't push me, Girlie. The boss wants to see him.'

He held out his hand for Girlie and pulled her out, Red then did the same for Archer. When it came to the Rookie's turn he simply refused to offer and hand and made the new recruit crawl out on his own.

'So what should we call you?' asked the large sleeveless man.

'Call me Rookie.'

'Okay, I'm Sleeves.'

Rookie strolled behind as Red led Girlie, Sleeves and the other soldiers away. The second of the welcome party stayed behind and waited for Rookie to pass. As he did the man swung his arm around the Rookie's neck.

'So Rookie, right?'

'Yeah, what should I call you?'

'Call me Blades.' He said as he began walking.

'What's your rank, _Blades_?' Rookie spoke as if making fun of his name.

'One a lot higher than yours. Number seven. Sleeves, he's six. And Red, well he's number three.'

Blades pushed Rookie forward and nearly made him trip. Girlie turned around and broke her conversation with Red.

'Hey hurry up, we ain't got all day!'

As the two (Blades and Rookie) began walking again Blades cut in, whispering. 'And Girlie? She's my Girlie, so if I catch you making goo-goo eyes at my girl again, I'll cut your balls off.'

'Goo-goo eyes? Not me.'

'Bull.' Spat the man Blades.

Entering one of the warehouses they passed more soldiers. The warehouse was poorly lit but Rookie, turning to his left, noticed a small symbol on Blades' chest. He remembered seeing that Girlie had a pair of lips within a heart. What was Blades'?

He sped up a little and looked back towards Blades and noticed a Spartan Helmet over the top of two medieval swords, the image painted onto his chest plate. In front of him Red, Sleeves, Archer and Girlie all turned at once to see how far away Rookie was. Red had a black skull with a red crossbones in the background, Sleeves a black hourglass shape with a red fist in the foreground and Archer a red arrow sticking out of a black target.

Soon the warehouse row came to a close. Rookie began to wonder what kinds of things had been concealed within all the wooden crates that lined the warehouse's walls. At the back was a throne, one made entirely out of discarded crates. Another red and black leader sat atop it. To his left another pile of crates shaped more like a mountain than a throne, but seated high atop that was another Insurrection leader.

Atop the mountain of crates sat an Insurrectionist with a black crosshair on his chest. A sniper's visor shielded the front of his ODST helmet, and a Sniper Rifle sat in his hands. The man seated within the chair had a black Eagle's head with a red eye and red star painted on it located on his chest.

'So you're the one she chose.' Said the man on the throne.

'Yeah, Rookie. What should I call you?'

He sat back. 'I go by many names. I go by leader, _king_, boss-man, Crowe.'

'Crowe suits you.' Rookie judged.

A click was heard to the Rookie's right, as he looked in that direction the perched sniper loaded his rifle.

'Deadshot, back off.' Ordered Crowe.

The sniper nodded and placed the rifle beside him on the piles of crates. Deadshot and Crowe.

'What do you want with me?' Rookie asked at last.

'Help,' the leader began. 'You are the key to our victory against the Covenant in this war. It grows tiresome, this war I mean, and we lose more people than we bring into this world. The UNSC try their hardest to fight against the aliens but fail time and time again. Its branches have all broken off and begun fighting the war their own ways. Unity is what we need to win, the UNSC can win the war but only if its branches unite. We've already lost two of the UNSC's strongest branches of military: Shadow Corps and Phoenix Clan. We tried to unite but we failed. So we're taking advantage of this segregation and finding a new way.'

Rookie was so confused, he could barely understand the situation at all.

'I know this is hard for you to take in, but we need your help. We will be your family. We can get you to fight the war sooner at no cost to you–'

The large metal doors of the warehouse screeched open. Rookie had barely noticed they'd even closed, but now they announced their openings quite horrifically. All turned and about fourteen or fifteen Insurrection soldiers entered. Most were covered in blood and others carried in wounded allies on stretchers or over their shoulders. Entering through the centre of the door were three more leaders. The first, a man with a pill symbol on his chest. Beside him on his left and right were an Insurrectionist with a crossbow with a black arrow-tail printed on his chest. On the other side a massive Insurrectionist with heavier armor plating, a row of sharp teeth painted on his ODST helmet and a large flamethrower in his hands. A symbol of a flaming hand in the 'Rock' gesture on his chest.

'Bowman, Hawke, Sharkface. What is wrong?' a concerned Crowe said standing up from his throne. Deadshot leapt from his piles of crates, somewhat startled by the number of dead and dying soldiers in his presence.

'The Covenant, Crowe.' Began the man in the middle with the pill on his chest. 'They've taken the Western Fort. We barely managed to make it back.'

'Hawke, he's number two.' Whispered Archer to Rookie.

That meant that Bowman was likely the Insurrectionist with crossbow and the flamethrower soldier was likely Sharkface.

'Deadshot is number eight, Bowman is number nine and Sharkface is ten.' Archer continued.

'Will you shut up!' Rookie jumped. 'We've got other things to worry about.'

Suddenly the warehouse suddenly fell quiet, the groans and moans of the wounded shut up too. The leader stepped towards Rookie, stunned.

'_We_? _We _have got other things to worry about?' Crowe turned to Girlie. 'He's perfect.'

**Mother of Invention**

The locker room was silver, just like everything else in the ship other than the bridge (which felt black) and the docking bay (which felt grey). Lockers lined in rows and American state names were engraved in small metallic plates on the doors. There should have been fifty but one was missing from one of the rows.

Which one was it? Rhode thought to himself. Then he noticed that one of the lockers was marked 'Carolina', not north nor south. 49 states. Rhode wondered why there was only one Carolina. Looking around he had noticed a North and South Carolina, and a Virginia and West Virginia – but why only one Carolina?

When the others entered he asked Carolina, 'Hey Carolina, why is there only one of you?'

She turned, confused. 'I don't follow.'

'Well there's a Virginia and West Virginia, but there isn't a North or South Carolina. Only one single Carolina.'

Carolina turned around and stared at York for a moment, as if she knew something.

'Carolina?' Rhode continued. 'Do you know something?'

She stuttered, Carolina didn't want the others to know the truth. She'd already told York on Reach but she didn't want everyone to know. What if they thought the Director would favor her?

'I- I, uh. I'm the Director's daughter.' She said at last.

'Oh cool.' Utah spoke.

'But that doesn't explain it.' Said Alaska. 'Why is there only one then?'

The question stunned her.

'I don't really know. I was born in South Carolina and my father was born in North Carolina. Maybe that's the significance.' Carolina concluded.

'Well whatever it is, it doesn't matter.' Wyoming said as he entered. His British accent catching the others off guard. Oddly Alaska's accent didn't feel so jarring to hear.

'Yeah, Wyoming does have a point. What's in the lockers?' Utah asked.

The agents spread out in search of their lockers.

'It's in chronological order!' Iowa pointed out as he found his locker first.

Inside was a piece of paper, a small ten by ten centimeter white square. Printed on it was a small image, a symbol.

'What's this?' he asked to himself out loud.

Virginia continued looking around. 'What have you got there?' he asked Iowa.

'My emblem.' He stared at it for a few moments. 'A black ninja's head on a golden flame.'

'A black ninja?' York seemed oddly confused. 'I thought ninjas were Asian.'

'The symbol is black, Jesus York.' Iowa laughed.

One by one the other Agents looked into their lockers and searched for their corresponding emblems.

'A cyan hawk.' Carolina was next. 'Holding a lightning bolt in one foot and three arrows in the other.'

'A cyan skull on a cobalt criss-cross.' Rhode was the next to find his image.

'Huh,' a sigh of disappointment from Utah. 'A yellow shield within a grey hollow hexagon inside another solid brown pentagon.'

'Wow, I have an dark olive colored Lion with a brown mane.' Virginia spoke.

Then Alaska found hers. 'A cyan lightning bolt with cobalt outlines on some kind of grey or black arrow thing. Looks like the energy symbol.'

Iowa left his locker and searched for York's. He had taken a liking to the guy, he seemed kind and funny a bit like how Rhode acted around the other male agents.

'A diamond.' Wyoming said.

'Any particular kind of diamond?' Iowa asked on his way to see York.

'Yeah a pointy one. It has a white upper half and black lower half.' Wyoming also seemed disappointed by his assigned emblem.

Iowa reached York at the same time as Carolina. The khaki colored soldier picked up his small sheet of paper just as they arrived. A brown boot with black laces, on a grey oddly shaped background.

'Do these symbols mean anything?' asked the Australian Agent Nevada.

'Dunno,' York replied. 'What's on yours?'

'A white ancient Spartan's helmet with the brown feather brush on top. It's on a blue diamond background.'

York thought for a moment. 'Means nothing to me. Any ideas?'

'Well, I'm kind of a ninja.' Said Iowa.

York chuckled, 'Yeah right. Sure you are.'

'I have a shield.' Utah continued. 'Am I good at defending myself?' his voice came from the next row of lockers.

'Nope, they mean shit.' Rhode concluded.

**Moments later…**

Once the Agents had settled into their locker bays and filled it with their luggage they packed (what little of it they had been allowed to bring), they met in the centre of the locker room and began to relax a little. Their social life was suddenly interrupted by a booming female voice.

'Good morning Agents, I assume you are fitting in quite well?'

It was F.I.L.S.S. the Mother of Invention's personal artificial intelligence.

'Everything's going cool, F.I.L.S.S..' Said York.

The group sat back on the benches that ran in between the rows of lockers. Rhode lay on his back while Wyoming sat on the ground with his back against another locker. Others stood against the walls and others sat on the benches. They were all quite bored. For a military program promising them infinite possibilities, they had provided not a single one just yet.

'If you are not having fun, I can always come up with solutions.' F.I.L.S.S. continued.

Virginia laughed. 'Well this'll be a laugh.'

'Our facilities around the Galaxy have several warehouses and training rooms, however none can match the awesome size and top-of-technology used in the creation of the room right here in the Mother of Invention.' She suggested.

'Tell us about the training room, F.I.L.S.S..' Carolina opted.

'Our training scenarios come with many customizable skirmishes for teams to take part in. We offer a series of categories and battle types such as Capture the Flag, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Paintball, Domination and Last Man Standing. These are just five of the forty game types we have stored. I can schedule a match to begin sometime soon at your request.'

There was a quietness in the locker room. 'Anyone up for a fight?' asked Alaska.

Without answer all of the Agents jumped from their spots and left the room. The Mother of Invention's first official training session would begin.

**Training Room, Mother of Invention 1300 Hours**

'A new challenger has arrived. Today's match-up is agents Carolina, Nevada and Virginia versus agents Wyoming, York and Rhode.' Spoke F.I.L.S.S.

As Utah wandered into the Observation Deck he familiarized himself with his surroundings. There was a black electronic screen set up to display the training scores. There was a long row of windows which looked down on the agents below. Looking out through the glass was Iowa and Alaska.

'Beginning hand-to-hand combat. Round begins in three, two, one, begin.' Announced F.I.L.S.S.

At one end of the empty space arena below stood York, Rhode and Wyoming. The three stood in a triangle with Agent Rhode in the front. At the other end stood agents Carolina, Virginia and Nevada who began to split up and make their way around the outside of the arena.

Carolina had stayed where she started as Nevada and Virginia circled around. Rhode led the charge with his three agents in Team Two in a sprint towards Agent Carolina. Rhode threw the first punch, his fist caught by Carolina. She ducked as Wyoming tried to kick at her head. York threw the next punch but his attack was blocked by her raised arms.

Caught off guard and completely distracted by Carolina, Nevada and Virginia (who had now outflanked Team Two) ran in. Nevada struck first kicking the back of York's knee and making him collapse. Virginia simply swung the palm of his hand at the left side of Wyoming's helmet. Wyoming felon his side. _Wyoming was out._

Nevada booted the back of York's head and threw him into the ground next. _York was out._ The rules to hand-to-hand combat were simple. Once completely on the ground, that player was out of the round. Luckily for the near defeated Team Two only one round of Hand-to-Hand was placed in the schedule.

Rhode swung his right fist towards Carolina's head and expecting her to duck continued to spin around behind him. Carolina ducked, and Rhode's fist collided with Nevada's chest. Nevada, winded, fell back and struggling to stand collapsed onto his back. _Nevada was out._

At this stage it was just Rhode against Virginia and Carolina. Then she did it, the awesomest jump-kick move that Agent Utah had ever seen. She leapt upwards and in a back flip kicked Rhode in an uppercut. Rhode too fell into a back flip, though his was uncontrolled and he collapsed head first into the ground. _Rhode was out._

'Round One over. Hand-to-Hand Combat Training, complete. Point awarded to Team One. The Current Score is Team One: 1. Team Two: 0.'

Up in the Observation deck all the agents were stunned. None had realised how each other had fought. Considering all they had done is talked it was normal to assume that each one was as skilled as each other – but they were crazy wrong. Agent Carolina was a beast.

York had begun panting, the battle had been intense. He wondered if the agents in the Observation Deck could feel the intensity that they had been feeling. One thing was for certain, he was glad there was only going to be one hand-to-hand combat exercise. He hoped that the six Lockdown Paint Scenario exercises were going to spin in Team Two's favor. York looked back and saw Team One had returned to their side of the arena too. Then his vision became blocked when large vertical rectangular pillars arose from the ground in the centre of the arena. Cover.

'Now resetting for Lockdown Paint Scenario.' Spoke F.I.L.S.S.

At each end of the arena Iowa noticed a table ascend from the floor. Rested on each table was an assortment of ranged weaponry. From the angel he was standing, Iowa could tell that each of the weapon had been minimally customized and altered not to receive ammunition but to take something else.

From the observation room above Iowa, Alaska and Utah could see everything. They could see that all six of the agents below had grabbed standard issue handguns.

'Round Two, in three… two… one. Round begin.'

Each agent hid behind the pillar that was closest to them, none were eager to move unless it could be assured they would not be hit. F.I.L.S.S. had told them it was a paintball scenario, yet still the agents feared getting hit. Paint wouldn't hurt, especially if it hit the armor.

'Why are they so worried?' asked Utah.

'It'd be suicide to move out of cover, any second you're out of cover everyone can see you.' Iowa clarified.

'I know, but it's not like they want to get hurt.'

'Non, but it would be a tactical disadvantage.' Spoke Alaska.

All the agents in the observation deck turned to her.

'The round ends once all three are out, point goes to the team left standing.'

Below Team One had begun moving out of cover. Carolina began moving forward, and Nevada beside her. Virginia stood back in the open and covered them. Team One received no resistance. On the other side of the map York dove out of cover before sliding behind another pillar to his right. From above it looked as though they were trying to outflank Team One.

'York, you there bro?' whispered Rhode.

'Yeah, any ideas?' York replied with no knowledge of where his ally was.

'No, have you seen Wyoming?'

'I thought he was with you.'

'Shit.' Rhode cursed. 'No he moved forward and inwards to the left.'

A few clicks were heard, as if from a silenced pistol. Interested York called back for Rhode.

'Rhodey, was that Wyoming?'

'…'

'Rhodey? Was Wyoming hit?'

'…'

'Uh oh.' York said as he broke from cover and sprinted forwards.

The second he moved Agent Nevada entered where York had just left and began firing at him. But York was too quick. He took cover again behind a pillar. He couldn't tell where he'd left Nevada, or where Virginia and Carolina were hiding. He'd lost his bearings when he began to move out. He peeked his head around a corner. No Wyoming.

He peeked his head around the other corner to the left of the pillar. There was Rhodey, he seemed to be frozen or paralyzed. He had dropped his gun and appeared to be cowering, shielding his helmet with his hands. A large blob of pink slime surrounded his arms and had solidified. But why was he paranoid?

He turned the other direction, to the right again to look for Wyoming.

'Hello.' Virginia.

Bam! York felt himself fly backwards as the heavy paintball hit his helmet. The paint oozed and covered the visor of his helmet. It was so cold, violent electrical currents seemed to course through his face where it impacted. And a second later the shocks had ceased. York wanted to rub his face, clear the paint. But he couldn't his mind wanted him to but his body had become numbed and wouldn't move. He _couldn't _move.

More clicks, and Wyoming heard them all. It was obvious that the guns they were firing weren't silenced, they weren't the right models. Handguns didn't come equipped with silencers. Two sets of clicks, two allies down.

Wyoming hid behind the pillar, watching the motion sensor in his helmet's Heads-Up-Display. Nothing. It was likely that F.I.L.S.S. had blocked the use of motion sensor's in training. So he listened for footsteps. Nothing. A few seconds earlier he had heard footsteps running, then silence followed by the second set of clicks and a deep groan.

Wyoming had watched as Rhode was hit, but he hadn't stayed behind to watch what happened to him. How had the Director ensured those who were hit remained out of play? More footsteps. Heavy, limping. Likely Virginia's, he had a solid build and being cooped up in that cell for six months likely caused all kinds of bodily problems.

Wyoming considered for a moment firing blindly around the side of the pillar, but it was likely that Team One didn't know his position. So instead he stopped crouching, placed his left hand atop the pillar and vaulted over the top. He was sure he'd made no sound.

The fact was though, he had. Immediately Virginia and Carolina, who had turned away, swiveled and looked at him. Wyoming managed to fire one blast from the handgun before his left hand was hit. He fell to the ground, but on two feet. He fired one more from his right hand. Two more shots, this time from Virginia hit his helmet.

Wyoming used his left hand, coating in a cold and sticky ooze to pull his helmet off. Pair seared his skin, it's was cold but left his nerves burning. He wanted so bad to chop his hand off but understand he could be in shock, or just delirious. His left up began to seize up from the elbow downwards. With his helmet off all the other agents (aside from York and Rhode) could see his face. His stubby yet large brown moustache, thick brown hair. He fired two, then three more shots from his handgun, all barely missing Virginia's torso. In that same second Carolina fired.

The paint wrapped itself around Wyoming's neck forcing him to choke. It was so cold, and he couldn't breathe. But the paint was short as his body seized up and F.I.L.S.S.' voice, like God's, boomed throughout the arena.

'Point Team One. Having 2 rounds, the score is now: 0, 2 advantage Team One.'

A light _'psshhhhh'_ could be heard. From the ceiling, the four corners of the room a white mist began billowing out like steam from a kettle. Wyoming felt the paint crystallize, becoming lighter as it came into contact with the gasses. The paint cracked, and fell to the ground before forming into a liquid and evaporating.

Rhode felt the effects of the gas arrive and wear off instantly. He felt so much lighter, and his muscles stopped straining. He began to follow York to the table when Wyoming approached them. A large purple bruise had already formed across the length of his neck. His helmet was under his arm. Why did he have to take off his helmet, Rhode wondered.

Wyoming dropped to his knees.

'Shit, you alright?' Rhode asked, running to his aid.

'Sorry chaps. But it looks like you'll have to sub me out. I- I'll…'

'Say no more.' York laughed. He turned to the Observation Deck and called up, 'Hey Iowa! Get down here, you're subbing for Wyoming.'

He saw Iowa salute before disappearing from the window.

Minutes later the two had swapped positions. Iowa presumed that Wyoming was being tended to be a medical team in the Observation Room. Below, Iowa was going to join York and Rhode in Team Two. The score was Carolina's team with two points and York's with none.

'A new challenger has arrived. Agent Wyoming is being subbed out for Agent Iowa. Point deduction granted to Team Two.' F.I.L.S.S. announced.

Rhode celebrated. 'Alright! Now we're only one behind.'

In return York slapped his forehead (or what would have been his forehead had he'd not been wearing a helmet.)

'No, we are being deducted. It's now 2 to 0 you moron.'

'No,' Rhode thought confused. 'I'm pretty sure we're being granted it.'

F.I.L.S.S. interrupted the conversation. 'The scores are now 0, 3. Advantage Team One. Round three begins in five… four… three… two… one! Round begin!'

Iowa hadn't even realised he'd picked up his armaments, around him York and Rhode had done the same. The three sat in cover and waited, listening in for a sound to show that they were being hunted.

On the other side of the battlefield Carolina was coordinating her men.

'Virginia I want you to move up through the middle.' She said and Virginia nodded. 'Nevada, I want you to circle around the left but not along the boundaries. You'll cover Virginia if it's needed. You'll be exposed but I'll be circling around the left on the outside providing cover fire for you.' Nevada then nodded too.

In a second the three parted ways heading their unique directions. Carolina was proud of her men, they were responsive and subordinate. She just hoped they would carry their loyalty into the battlefield. First impressions meant everything to her, and they had impressed.

Making her way around the perimeter she tried to be as quiet as possible. The positive about having light armor and being thin in her build, she was quiet. Every few seconds she would lose sight of Nevada as he slipped into cover. Every few seconds she would catch a glimpse of Virginia who was slowly maneuvering his way through the centre of the arena.

She was halted.

A click told her that a gun was being pointed at the back of her head. She stopped thinking quickly about her next approach to the situation. She couldn't cover her men like this, she was being suppressed.

'Shit! Oh Caro–' Nevada's voice. Silenced by the ping of paint hitting armor.

Could she swing back and knock the gun from his hands? No, surely whoever it was would deflect the attack and use it to their advantage. There had to be a better option, but what was it? There was no time left to think.

'Nevada? Nevada where's the cover!' she could hear Virginia yell. 'Nevada! Carolina! Where the hell ar–' and then he was shot.

There was no time left. There was no reason for her to be kept alive. Was it York? She swiveled on her back foot and launched a fist in her captors general direction. But the man stepped back. Agent Iowa continued to aim the gun at her and pulled the trigger. It clicked, as if it were empty on ammunition. The delay was something she could take advantage of.

She lifted her right leg and tried to kick him in the face but again he jumped back. Iowa had agility similar to her. Iowa desperately hit his gun. It had jammed and the paint wasn't being fired. Carolina pulled the handgun forward to face him. As if in slow motion, Iowa looked up from his gun and she could imagine that beyond his visor his eyes had widened and his jaw was dropping. She pulled down on the trigger hard and fast. The paint pellet his Iowa in the chest and knocked him on the ground. He was paralyzed.

Behind her she heard York and Rhode celebrate.

'Wooh! Point to us!'

They obviously assumed that the shot that Carolina had fired must have come from Iowa. That she had lost. They were wrong.

Back at the ammunition table the two celebrated. York was fist pumping and facing away from her towards Rhode. Rhode however, was facing her. She watched. Rhode noticed her and was about to grab York's attention when she fired and hit Rhode in the knee. The blast knocked him back. York in shock and surprise turned next. He was the next to fall.

One shot hit him in the left ankle, another in the left hip and a third on his right shoulder. The space marine froze standing upright.

'Point Team One. Having 3 rounds, the score is now: 0, 4. Advantage: Team One.'

Again the hiss of the paint removal steam filled the arena. The Agents were wounded but managed to climb up and take their positions at the arms tables again. Back at her table she met with Nevada and Virginia.

'What the hell happened?' asked Nevada frustrated.

'I got clipped.'

'You? You got clipped? But how? You said the whole thing was flawless.'

'When did I say that?'

'Right after you… oh, well I guess you didn't.' Nevada said embarrassed.

'Come on guys. Let's just take this again. Who cares if we got hit? We won the point.' Virginia announced.

The three loaded up again on paintball pellets. The round would bring Carolina's team a total of five points. Wyoming was going to arrange for it to be first to fifteen, but Carolina assumed that after another two victories York and Rhode would likely give up. But Iowa, Iowa was something else entirely. He was an elite fighter.

By the time F.I.L.S.S. had started the round Iowa had already come up with his next plan. He had suggested that all three of them outflank around the right side of the arena. It was a ridiculous move but would likely work. The three would make their way towards the enemy team's ammunition table and outflank them as they pushed their way forward. Rhode loved it, an abstract idea that could be manipulated for success. And York just wanted a change of plans, one that wouldn't let him get shot.

While he had ultimately failed in shooting Carolina, he still proved himself. There would be no worry, there would be no hesitation. Agent Iowa would win the team their game. The round had started and it was time to show his honor.

The three began to move around the outside of arena. They kept pillar weaving to a minimum. The longer the periods of times that they could see each other, the more they could ensure that they wouldn't lose sight of each other. Covering the man in front of you was an essential part of victory.

Gunfire broke out, oddly none of the paint pellets had come from his own men. Odder still, the pellets were fired and impacted away from the men. Carolina must've been getting edgy, she would let her guard down and allow for York's team to strike.

'_Psst_,' whispered York. 'I think we've got them.'

Before Iowa or Rhode could answer another voice was heard. 'You think so?' it was much more harsh and deep. It was Virginia's.

York turned and hit Virginia in the arm with a paint pellet. Carolina threw a punch and knocked Rhode over before fire but missing him. Nevada must have been trying to forge a distraction. Unfortunately it had worked. While Virginia had been shot, he was not out of the competition. He managed to push through the pain and fire his gun from his left arm.

Iowa was shocked that the rules weren't based around one shot one kill. A firefight broke out in front of him as Nevada arrived. As far as he had seen, none had been knocked down yet. Then Carolina turned to him, charging and squeezing the trigger. Two pellets missed. Iowa managed to fire off one before Carolina punched the magnum out of him hand. The shot had missed.

In return Iowa grabbed Carolina's right arm, instinctively she reacted by straightening it. This left both her elbow and ribcage unguarded. If Carolina was a real enemy, Iowa would be forced to snap her arm by shattering her elbow. But Carolina was the enemy, and Iowa knew the difference between his enemies and his friends. So he punched an uppercut to her ribcage. She dropped the handgun.

Someone this had changed from a paintball scenario back to a hand to hand combat war-game. Carolina threw a punch, but Iowa merely caught it in his right palm and used his left hand to push her right past him. The momentum she had gathered from the charge tripped her when she realised she hadn't actually hit him at all.

As Iowa turned to pick up the gun arms tightened around his neck and torso. This suppressed both of his arms as well. Carolina had moved and begun holding him in a headlock. Like a child, Iowa stopped using the muscles in his knees and dropped to the ground. Carolina couldn't hold him, she was light but this meant she wasn't strong.

In a fashion he'd learned at school he spun on his back, as if break dancing, and kicked her off her feet. Both were on the ground and crawling for the gun. Desperate to win. Desperate to survive. With each meter they pulled their bodies closer to the gun a punch would be delivered and a punch would make contact. As they crawled Iowa would hit Carolina, usually on top of the helmet if the blow was landed successfully.

He slid forward and picked up the gun before firing one pellet up at Carolina who had just lunged on him. She dodged it, and in doing so was forced to give up on her aggressive strategy. Instead she grabbed the nozzle of the gun with her left hand and caught Iowa's finger with her right and squeezed until he let go. She grabbed both of his shoulders and he spun around to see Agent Rhode aiming a gun at Carolina. Then he realised that _he_ was the human shield. Rhode fired a blast before realizing what he was doing. The paint pellet hit Iowa's right hip.

The paint stung like a bitch.

Carolina then yanked the gun free from Iowa's hand, from the crippled fingers. And fired that gun a few times at Rhode. One of the pellets hit him in the right side of the helmet. It blinded half of his visor, but he could still see. Like himself and Virginia, he could still move despite the effects of the paint. Iowa pulled forward his arm before elbowing Carolina in the gut. She gagged, winded, the gun flying across the battlefield. Both fell to the ground, weakened. They were back where they had just been seconds before.

In a moment of adrenalin Iowa leapt forward and caught the handgun before standing up. He aimed the gun at her. – but he hadn't realised he had been hesitating. To him, he was victorious and he needed to cherish the moment and bask in the glory. She got to her knees and stood upright holding her hands above her head.

What should he say? Should he say: _not this time,_ as he fired shots at her? Or maybe _no mercy for the weak_, or would that be a little dark. Crack! Iowa lost his balance and fell forward. He was so dizzy he'd begun to hallucinate and felt as though he was falling forever before finally landing in a dark pit. His face felt numbed and pained. Had he fallen into a meat locker? The next thing he noticed was the overwhelming coldness and then a voice. A male's. An Australian's.

'Sorry 'bout that youngfella.' The voice chuckled.

An ear piercing whine was heard and interrupted the coldness. F.I.L.S.S.' voice ended the confusion.

'I am sorry Agents. But it appears my skirmish settings to not match those set up in the ship's databanks and archives. According to protocol when an anomaly such as this turns up I have no alternative but to end the training session prematurely.'

Had F.I.L.S.S. just knocked him out? Suddenly he could see again. And he was wrong. Agent Nevada stood over him with a handgun held within his grasp. The Agents all headed towards the exit. The pillars began to retract and descended into the floor below. Carolina offered a hand. Iowa took it and was helped up.

'After four rounds the game is now over. The score is 0, 5. Winners Team One with Agents Carolina, Nevada and Virginia. Congratulations.' Announced F.I.L.S.S.

Iowa followed the others up and into the Observation Deck. As he entered Wyoming had already left. Alaska and Utah waited for him.

'So how was it?' asked Utah excitedly.

'Yeah, intense.' He said slowly, still distracted by Wyoming's disappearance.

'Come on, come on. Tell us everything.' Alaska pleaded.

The exit burst open again.

'Come on guys, give the guy some breathing room. Let's check out the Mess Hall, I could do with a bite to eat.'

Iowa followed York, Rhode and Carolina out. Only Utah and Alaska were left.

'What gives?' Utah exclaimed.

'Ah, do not worry, mon ami.' Alaska assured him. 'We will be able to fight in time. You'll see.'

**Mother of Invention, War Room**

The room was dark. According to the schematics the War Room wasn't far from the Bridge. In the centre was a large glowing table that projected holograms depending on the mission details. There wasn't any missions available at the moment so the table merely glowed a light blue.

'Agent Iowa? Is that correct?' F.I.L.S.S. asked.

'That's right F.I.L.S.S.'

'You seem unsure of yourself, Agent Carolina.'

'No I am certain. I just- if any of the others found out I was doing this…'

'I understand Agent Carolina. But I must assure you that this isn't a negative thing. The intel you are providing me will help in further missions. I appreciate your cooperation. I suggest you return to the other Agents so that you lack of presence does not come suspicious. You should enjoy what free time you have.'

'I will, thank you F.I.L.S.S..' Agent Carolina concluded before leaving the dark room.

She had first felt in when she arrived on the Mother of Invention, and she had noticed it again here. F.I.L.S.S. was a person, maybe it was because her name sounded Human. In the war room she was alone, but she didn't feel alone with F.I.L.S.S. talking to her. It was interesting.

**Mother of Invention, Mess Hall**

Half the Agents had already received their meals when Rhode had finally reached the canteen. The lunch line wasn't very long, but the Mess Hall was full. Scores and scores of soldiers sat at their tables quietly. All acted surprisingly friendly around him. Rhode wasn't used to getting friendly treatment from people. But York, York and Iowa seemed really nice.

He turned to his left and watched as the cafeteria lady delivered a spoonful of grey slop onto Agent York's food tray. None of the Agents were wearing their armor anymore. The Director had suggested the agents wear it as much as possible to allow them to get used to it, so it would act like a prosthetic. York was already used to it, he failed to hide his disgust in the slop.

He gagged and left Rhode to deal with it alone.

'What's in this?' Rhode asked pointing to the slop.

'Meat. Grime. Marrow. Heck if I know what else.' She spoke seriously.

'Oh that's too bad. I'm a vegetarian.' He lied.

'Oh, no. Well don't worry. This slop doesn't really have meat in it.'

She dropped an extra big spoonful of what could only be described as duck vomit onto his tray. As Ryan walked away sadly, Utah was next and began laughing maniacally at Rhode's attempts.

At the table sat Virginia, York, Nevada, Alaska and Iowa.

'…so maybe cow's can talk, uh, Virginia.' Stuttered Iowa. 'Maybe it's just because, nobody taught them how to. Yeah.'

'Alright are you talking about me?' Rhode started.

'Non, but we can if you want to.' Pushed Alaska.

'I don't.'

'Oh but you do.' She pushed further. 'What's your story, Agent Rhode.'

'Story? I don't have a story.'

'Oh course you do. Everyone has a story.' Virginia said.

'Yeah,' Iowa jumped in. 'like my whole family was butchered by ninjas, Virginia was locked in a cave for six months, York and Carolina met on a nightclub and fought off rapists, Alaska was shot in a hunting accident and Nevada cheated in a high stakes poker game!'

Utah arrived and sat down.

Iowa continued, 'and Utah was shot in a bar robbery!'

Rhode thought for a moment. 'A douche bag had sex with my girlfriend so I beat him up.'

There was silence followed by a quick and sharp sigh from Iowa. 'Yeah, you were right, you've got no story.'

Rhode took a mouthful of slop. It was scolding hot and burnt his tongue. Small chunks of half thawed meat rested disturbingly within the puddle of duck vomit.

'So where's Wyoming and Carolina?' Nevada asked.

'Oh, right. Wyoming's with the Director and Carolina says she's got something she has to do.' York answered. 'Actually, I've gotta do something to.' He said, getting up and leaving.

He left the slop at the table.

'Hey, York! If you didn't want to eat your slop there was probably a better excuse!' Rhode yelled looking back at the slop again. 'Come back! I think… I think it's looking at me!'

**Mother of Invention, Docking Bay**

She continued to push the crates into the Pelican, and Wyoming continued to do the gentlemanly thing and help her out. Some of the crates were large, others were small, some where heavy and some… were so heavy he thought his spine was going to shatter into a thousand small pieces under the weight.

That was a thought.

'Hey, thanks again for the help.' She said pushing the second last crate up the ramp.

'It's no problem. It's good getting to know the others here.' Wyoming said pushing the last crate behind her.

She stepped to the side as Wyoming pushed the last crate into the Pelican. Both jumped off the ramp and she slapped the side of the ship twice. The Pelican's pilot waved to the two and retracted the ramp before ascending and flying off, out of the Mother of Invention's hangar.

'So ma'am what should I call you?' he asked.

'I don't have a name.'

'Bollocks.' He laughed.

'But you can call me 479er.'

479er, she was the Pelican pilot who had brought Wyoming and the other recruits to the Mother of Invention. Truth be told, Wyoming sort of fancied her. Curiously he hadn't even seen her face yet. And she hadn't seen his, he was still shielded behind his white armor.

'My warmest regards. I am Agent Wyoming, but if you would prefer you can call me Reginald.'

She laughed and began heading towards the DockingBay exit, Wyoming followed.

'Well, _chappy_, I would love to. But the Director doesn't want me calling Agents by their real names.'

'Please, I insist.'

'So do I. I don't want to lose my job.'

She wasn't warming up to him as much as he would've liked. It was a shame, he wanted to get to know her.

'Look, I can see you're a nice guy, but…'

'Could I buy you a drink then?' Wyoming suggested.

She looked at her feet.

'I just don't think–' a beep began to sound periodically, emitting from her wristpad. 'Shit, Director's paging me.'

Wyoming sighed within his helmet. Another chance lost. He watched as 479er walked away, leaving Wyoming behind. She turned back to him and called.

'Hey! You know I'm expecting you to fulfill your drink offer tonight, _Reginald_!'

**Mother of Invention, Armory**

He made his way slowly up the hallway. He wandered past the rows of guns and swords and vehicular equipment. A rectangular glass case sat at the end. Within, a set of khaki space marine armor. He was alone, and therefore in no danger of being caught.

'I am Agent York.'

Those words sounded so foreign to him. He would have to say them enough times for them to not sound so alien. He needed to be what the Director wanted him to be. It was his duty.

'I am Agent York.'

He placed a palm on the glass and slid it horizontally. A smudge in the shape of a hand and detailed fingerprints were left behind. He lined himself up with the armor so that his head was in line with the helmet. The armor was so much bigger than him. He could never get used to it.

'I am Agent York.'

'Yes you are.'

'JESUS!' York panicked turning around. In the doorway was a soldier in silver. Clearly possessing a woman's figure.

'Oh, god. I'm sorry.' She apologized. She waved her arms as if trying to calm him.

'Who are you?'

'I'm the pilot, remember? I flew 479er? I'm here to let you know the Director wants to see you.'

York stabilized himself by placing an arm on a wall. 'Why didn't F.I.L.S.S. let me know?'

'She's busy running some tests. Are you coming?'

'Yeah, I'll be there in a minute.'

'Director expects you to show up to briefings in uniform.'

'Uniform?' he said confused. 'We don't have uniforms.'

She nodded past him. York turned, she was looking at the khaki armor. It was more than just armor, the armor helped represent him. _It_ would be Agent York.

**Mother of Invention, Mess Hall**

'…and that's why we aren't allowed to eat cheese in UNSC ships anymore.' Concluded Virginia.

The others were all in shock, intrigued even.

'Fuck me,' Nevada murmured. 'I didn't even know that you could use cheese like that.'

'Well clearly it's got its perks.' Iowa laughed, slowly, and awkwardly. 'For one, obviously you can shove it holes of any shape or size.'

'Any hole.' Utah repeated.

'I shall be honest now, Virginia,' Alaska began. 'I don't think I can look at you the same way ever again.'

'I think I'm going to be sick.' Gagged Utah upon thinking about what he'd just heard.

There weren't many soldiers left in the Mess Hall but Rhode expected if there had been, they'd all have circled the table to listen to the story. Or nightmare, depending on how you looked at that event. One soldier entered, he recognized her from the Pelican that delivered him to the Mother of invention.

'Hustle up! Get in your armor and rendezvous at the Bridge!' she called.

**Mother of Invention, War Room**

F.I.L.S.S.' voice rang through the room as she addressed both the Director and the Counselor.

'Agent Carolina has successfully reported back to me, Director.'

'What did she find, F.I.L.S.S.?' Dr. Leonard Church replied.

'Agent Iowa, sir.'

'Yes?'

'He is the first one you should look at. Carolina has reported that he is an expert in hand-to-hand and close quarters combat. She recommends that he be the first to undertake the mission.'

'We'll see, I'll place him with Carolina for the training operation.' The Director smiled. 'I look forward to seeing him in action.'

**Mother of Invention, The Bridge**

'Good evening Agents. I assume you are all fitting in quite nicely.' Began the Director.

'Yes sir!' all the agents saluted.

'Perfect, the Counselor and I have gathered you hear to deliver your first mission briefing. Don't get too excited however, it is only a training mission.' He turned to the Counselor. 'Counselor, take the board.'

The Counselor stepped forward. 'Yes, Director. Around the Galaxy we have access to various Simulation Bases. These bases serve as training for our agents. The simulations are to be treated as real warzones. Each simulation scenario contains two team: Red and Blue. The two teams have been led to believe they are at war. Hostility that can lead to death is allowable when you are fighting in these scenarios.'

'Who are the soldiers, sir?' Carolina asked.

'Do not worry, these assets are entirely expendable.'

'But who _are _they?' Wyoming opted.

'They are soldiers who performed poorly during military knowledge tests. They were chosen because they would not be missed by their families and they would be put in situations where they would never second guess that what was going on around them could be a hoax.'

The Counselor stepped forward and pressed a few keys on his datapad. 'The Agents to partake in this mission are: Agent Alaska, Agent Carolina, Agent Iowa, Agent Utah and Agent York.'

'If I may,' Nevada jumped in. 'What are the rest of us supposed to do? Wyoming, Me and Rhode have got nothing to do.'

'Continue exploring the ship.' The Director offered. 'You'll find there is much to do here.'

The Counselor continued. 'Each of you will be brought to the simulation bases and serve the team you have just joined. There you will complete the objective that your team has assigned for you. Upon completion contact the pilot 479er and she will fly you home.'

The Director stepped forward.

'Agent Utah and Alaska, the two of you will serve as Freelancers for the Red Team. You will be fighting at Sidewinder.' He announced.

The Counselor stepped in. 'Agents Carolina and Iowa, you will team up as Blue Team members. You will be fighting the Reds at a place we call Valhalla.'

'Yes sir.' Iowa acknowledged.

York stepped forward, closer to his superiors. 'And me, sir?'

The Director smiled. 'You, Agent York will be fighting for the Reds. You will be fighting at our Simulation Base at Blood Gulch.'

**-End-**


	4. Episode Three: Up Close and Personal

**Red vs. Blue The Freelancer Archives**

**Episode Three: Up Close and Personal**

**Simulation Outpost Number 1, Blood Gulch**

The first thing he'd noticed upon landing was that the air was much more humid than he'd originally anticipated. Weather had never been a problem back on the paradise world of Reach, the weather was something that York had never concerned himself with. The glory of having a million human colony worlds was that you could choose a world that had climate suited to your preference. It was only when York had left to Earth that he discovered the importance of Long Sleeved Shirts and Woolen Jumpers. He was lucky though, as an Agent of Project Freelancer his combat armor came fully equipped with a cooling fan. I didn't do so much, but it was just enough to make him feel comfortable.

'Hold it!' came a gruff voice from atop Red Base.

York had been on the ground staring at the brown rocks beneath his feet. He'd been headed towards the back door and hadn't thought to look up. On top of red base was a soldier in standard red armor, with the basic simulation Mark V helmet. In his hands was a UNSC standard issue Assault Rifle.

'You're not blue,' came the authoritative and frustrated voice from above.

'Well you're observant.' York replied sarcastically. 'I'm looking for the leader of the Red Team.'

'You found him.' Said the Red lowering his firearm.

'No kidding. Can I come in?'

'Yeah,' he grumbled. 'And don't forget to wipe your feet.'

The obedient Freelancer stepped closer and realised that the large Red Base didn't even have any doors. There were just large open archways that led inside. Stepping in he looked at the ground searching for a mat to wipe his feet on. There was none.

Blood Gulch was anything but special. It was a large box canyon, lined with rocky brown walls. There was a cave complex to the south of the canyon and a high ridgeline to the north. He had done the smart thing, to achieve full tactical advantage he'd looked at the location's schematics. The database suggested there was on oasis in the centre of the canyon. If it was telling the truth, then it had long dried up.

Inside where an assortment of red soldiers, all wearing the Mark V armor. Some were seated and some leant against walls. All held their weapons as if preparing for battle. Where they preparing a frontal assault?

'Call me Mutton, Gunnery Sergeant Mutton Hank Mutton.' Came the familiar gruff voice that had greeted him.

Mutton was the red team leader. He was the only soldier that York had researched on the database. Mutton preferred to go into battle wielding an Assault Rifle. Mutton had been stationed at Blood Gulch for six years. He had called for a Freelancer to help with their next operation.

He looked past Mutton to see the other soldiers too busy to take notice of him. He began to picture what each of the men looked like under their visors. He only hoped the Gyst. Mutton had muttonchops. He gave snort in humor.

'Something funny about my name, Private?' Mutton asked angrily.

'Private?' York began to laugh even harder. 'Sir, I'm no Private. I'm a Freelancer, I am so much more scary.'

'Then what were you laughing at, boy?'

'Just picturing you with muttonchops and a handlebar moustache.' York giggled again.

'I do have a handlebar moustache and muttonchops.' He said unhappily.

The rest of the red team soldiers began to break out into laughter. One by one they all stood up to shake York's hand. The first to stand up was a soldier unique to the rest, he wore crimson armor instead of the standard red. He stopped loading his gun and instead swung the sniper rifle hanging on by a leather strap over his back.

'The name's Mickey. Mickey Baker.' He held at his hand and York politely shook it. 'Private First Class Baker. I'm the Red team's sniper.'

'He's a crack shot, he is.' Mutton nodded.

'Pleasure to meet you, I'm Agent York.' He turned to the man beside Mickey, who was now approaching.

'Call me Bud. Private Bud the demolitions expert.'

Again all the personnel of Red Base began to cry out in laughter. York felt awkward being the only one with Bud not laughing. He tried to imagine what was going on in this team.

'He thinks he's Demolitions.' Mutton began. 'He's not. He's actually banned from touching explosives.'

'Am not!' Bud protested.

'Are too!' Mutton retaliated.

'Am not!'

'You are too and you damn well know it!' Mutton stepped closer to York and whispered. 'Bud here killed our last recon agent, accidentally threw a grenade at him. Poor Jenkins.'

York was shocked, caught off guard. 'Woah.'

'I heard that!' Bud yelled. 'Whispering does nothing! You've got your radio on, what the hell, Mutton.'

Mutton plainly ignored the kid. 'I wouldn't worry though, York. Red Command was kind enough to send us a replacement.'

'Oh good. Who was the replacement they sent?' York asked looking around the base.

'_Who?_ Red Command sent as a replacement grenade cache.' Mutton laughed.

Mutton was the only one who laughed. He wasn't kidding. Nervously York tried to change the subject by turning to the last of the Reds, he was seated on a weapons crate cleaning his shotgun. Like the rest he was in standard Red armor and wearing Mark V class protection.

'Hi there, I'm Agent York. What's your name, soldier?'

Again all the soldiers burst out into laughter, and the red seated in front of him didn't even respond. He took no notice of the Freelancer before him. York held out his hand and waved it in front of the man's visor. Still no response.

'Poor Sally. He had his eyes sliced out by a dirty blue.' Mutton laughed.

York was astonished, he thought that this Sally person would have at least been taken home after suffering such an injury. York held out his hand to shake it, still no response.

'Sally's deaf too. He was hit by a tank's cannon. Sound deafened him'

This was ridiculous. York grabbed the soldier's hand to shake it. Immediately the red grabbed York in a headlock and held a knife to the Freelancer's throat. He began mumbling in unintelligible sounds.

'What?' York asked, hoping for an answer. Then he realised that this man was deaf.

'Oh yeah,' Mutton continued. 'Ol' Sally also had his tongue cut out when he was a kid. The guy's practically a mute.'

This was getting freaking ridiculous. This was no team, this was a motley crew. Where was the Red Team's pirate ship?

'So are you gonna help us or what?' Mickey asked.

'Uh, yeah.' York grumbled. Sally slowly release his grip on York until he was free. 'Sure, what do you want me to do? Capture a Blue?'

For the third time since he'd arrived the Red Team (Sally included) broke out into laughter.

'You're special forces! We want you to kill him!'

York felt like an idiot, an outsider. 'Okay then. Tell me everything.'

'What do you mean, _everything?_' asked Bud.

'I want to know ammo count, preferable vantage points, how many on the Blue team are there? I want to know the amount and model of vehicles we have. I want you to tell me the distance between the roof of Red Base and roof of Blue Base, I want the wind resistance and speed. I want you to give me the target's name. Go.'

'Unknown shells, fifty six caches hidden in the caves.' Mickey stated.

'The ridgeline, caves and a tree outside Red Base. Blues often man or patrol the ridgeline and the caves are vastly unexplored.' Bud.

'Six Blues, plus a new recruit.' Mickey.

'No vehicles, but they _had_ a tank.' Mutton.

'Unknown distance, to dangerous to measure. Wind resistance, also unknown.' Mickey.

'Cheese.' Bud cut in.

The Base went silent. York was the first to speak.

'I'm sorry, what? Cheese?'

'Yes sir,' Bud continued. 'Private Lenny Cheese. Specialty, Reconnaissance. Weapon, Assault Rifle.'

York began to pace around the room, thinking about his approach to what was going down.

'I want Mickey on the ridgeline aiming a sniper rifle at Blue Base. If you see the target or any of the Blues feel free to take the shot. Bud, I want you to look after and defend and support Mickey while he's on the ridge. Mutton, you'll be by the cave entrance. If any Blues come through the cave take them hostage. Open radio chat on frequency five-six-seven. Sync.'

'Uh, what about Sally?' Bud asked.

'He can, uh…watch the…base?'

'But sir, Sally's the best shot out of all of us.' Bud jumped in again.

'Okay.' York replied, confused. 'Bud will join Mutton and Sally will join Mickey at the sniper's perch. Ready? Sync.'

'Sync.' Replied the Reds.

**An Hour Later…**

_**Mickey**_

The special forces guy was in his sights. That was what he had to remember, while an ally is in your sights – finger off the trigger. The canyon was sunny, sunnier than usual. In fact, the sun never actually seemed to change. It never set, it never even moved.

He pointed the sights towards Blue Base, no dirty Blues on the roof today. Odd. They were usually on the roof scouting. One shot, one kill. But not today. He expected some to be on the ridges, but there weren't any there either.

Sally mumbled something. Again Mickey had no idea what he said.

'Alright, I'm in position.' Came the familiar special forces guy's voice. 'While I'm in the canyon, I want to firing from the sniper rifle. I don't care if anyone is out here or on the roof. You are to use the sights only. Got it Mickey?'

'Affirmative.'

'Good. Mutton, Bud, how are things on your end?'

_**Bud**_

'Quiet.' Mutton replied.

'Okay. I'm moving in. Report to me if there is any movement.' York spoke before cutting out.

Bud and Mutton were both sitting outside the cave. Waiting. Waiting for any sign of movement or sound. So far there was nothing. And Bud would be prepared for anything. Even if it meant waiting two hours he would stay here and wait, watching. Like a Lion on a Gazelle. Or, some other kind of Gazelle-like animal that wasn't extinct. He would watch like a lion ready to kill a Moa, like a tiger stalking a-

'I'm bored outta my gourd.' Mutton spoke.

'Yeah, me too.'

Interrupting the boredom came the sound of light splashing. Followed by clunking footsteps and then a conversation. They echoed lightly from the cave. The voices were loud enough to show Bud that they didn't know they were being listened in on.

'What are you saying?' came one of the voices.

'I'm saying that this is pointless.' replied the other.

'How so?'

'The Reds don't do anything except stand around and talk. It's all they ever do.'

'So, Dingo ordered us to patrol through the caves and find Reds.'

'The caves are unmapped! There are tunnels leading everywhere!'

'So? What's your point?'

'The Red's wouldn't be going through here. They never have, they never will. They think it's dangerous.'

'And you're saying it's not.'

'No. The caves aren't dangerous. Because the only threat to us in this canyon are the Reds. If they're too scared to go in the caves, then that makes this place the safest place in the canyon. Kapeesh?'

'Gesundheit.'

Bud began to duck down, lowering his knees to the ground and aiming his Assault Rifle towards the cave opening. Mutton began to copy, only he held his left hand to his visor and signaled for Bud to '_shhh_'. The two waited. Mutton then held his hand out and pointed to the ground outside of the cave, and drew a line from the entrance out into the canyon. When pointing far enough away from the canyon he pointed to Bud and then back to him before holding his gun tighter. It was an ambush plan.

'I mean seriously, it's not like–'

As the first Blue exited the cave, Mutton stood up and tackled him. Bud turned the corner and began to fire wildly into the darkness. He caught sight of the other Blue screaming like a woman as he ran away. They looked back towards their hostage.

Bud radioed York, 'York, we have a problem.'

'What's wrong?'

'One of the Blues escaped, they know we're out here. You've got time against you.'

Bud turned to see Jenkins on the ground held at gunpoi- Jenkins?! What? Bud was caught in shock. Before him, on his knees was a Blue soldier with Red stripes painted on him… or… no… a Red soldier with Blue stripes painted on him. Jenkins, the traitor.

'Oh, sweet Jesus.' Muttered Mutton. 'Jenkins, you're a Blue.'

'Yes. I am. After Bud over here tried to kill me, I hid. In the explosion I crawled away, bleeding profusely before coming across the Blues hoping for a chance to leave you.'

'No, Jenkins you've got it all wrong.' Bud pleaded. 'I didn't try to kill you. It was an accident!'

'Save it. Hurry up and… shoot me.'

'I can't.' Mutton said lowering his gun. 'You were like a son to me, and now you're nothing. Bud didn't try to kill you. To prove it, I'm going to let you go.'

'But sir,' Bud interrupted.

'No boy, let him go.'

_**York**_

He hated time limits, they were bastards. Took away freedom. York had been crawling across the canyon floor, the dirt sticking to his armor. He moved through the very little plantation that lived in the canyon as he made his way towards Blue Base.

'I swear to god, that new Yogurt in the Blue army catalogue is giving me the runs.' Came a voice from around a corner.

York flattened himself even closer to the ground now. It was a Blue.

'Mickey,' York spoke into his radio. 'Is this the target?'

'Affirmative.'

York couldn't even begin to imagine how he could tell, all the Blue soldiers wore the same Blue armor. York crouched as the Blue moved past him, he was alone and must've been talking to himself. Once he was completely past York stood and held the shotgun that was in his grip at the Blue. He was cleared to fire.

But he couldn't bring himself to squeeze the trigger.

He hadn't realised it before, but he hadn't ever actually killed a man. Agent York, the elite space marine, never killed another person. Never killed an alien. Never even killed an animal! He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to end the life of another, it was a hurdle he'd have to pass. But he couldn't do it today. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind as he held this shotgun at point blanc range towards this Blue's head.

'What are you doing? Take the shot?' came Mickey's voice over the radio.

What if this Private had a family? Of course he had a family! Why did he need to die? This war was simulated. York had joined Project Freelancer to fight aliens, and now he was here killing innocent people who were just too dumb to pass a test.

'Take the shot, York!' Mickey's voice again, no longer whispering.

'What's going on down there?' came Mutton's voice next.

York tried to imagine what would happen if he was killed. Would anyone miss him? No, everyone that ever thought of his as family had died or moved on. There was no one left for him, no one but Carolina. There–

The Blue turned.

He jumped upon seeing York.

Bam!

The shotgun shell burst into pellets shredding the face of the unfortunate Simulation Trooper.

His Mark V visor cracked in several places and his helmet shattered revealing several holes. A spray of blood spurted from these holes as the guy fell backwards. The gunshot rang loud, echoing throughout the canyon.

York ran. As if he was guilty of a crime.

He dove and ducked behind a boulder. Behind him was a lot of movement. He turned to see more Blues come to the rescue. First there was a kid.

'No, Lenny! No!' the boy carried a sniper rifle. As the soldier ran and knelt beside his dead friend another, a superior officer, revealed himself. He had stopped, in shock at what had just happened. 'Noooooooo! You were so young.!' The boy burst out into tears.

'V.J.' the officer spoke. But the boy continued to cry. 'Private Vince Johnson, stop that right now!' And V.J. stopped crying, but only for a moment before bursting out once more. The man behind him also dropped to his knees.

VJ turned. 'Sarge? Dingo?' and he began crying louder, hysterical. Dingo dropped his shotgun and fainted. Another Blue emerged from the cliffs.

'VJ, Cheese, Dingo! There are Reds in the…' he looked down at the bodies on the ground in front of him. 'Alfonse Dingo! Sergeant Alfonse Dingo! Wake up!'

The events unfolding before York confused and scared him. He took one last look and noticed more Blue helmets pop up from the roof of Blue Base. York turned to look at the ridgeline, Mickey and Sally had left. They'd probably retreated to Blue Base.

It was time to go home.

**Sidewinder Gulch, Sidewinder**

Chaos. That's what this was, absolute and complete chaos. The two had arrived, nervous. They weren't at all confident to say the least, each felt like it was their first job interview. Neither expected that it would come to this. Alaska was using up a lot of her ammunition really quickly. Her Assault Rifle busily fired shells towards both the Sidewinder Reds and Blues. Utah had been using a magnum in order to save ammunition.

It was all a big understanding. It wasn't their fault that the Reds' leader was killed. Alaska and Utah had arrived to help steal the Blue Team's flag, and Gyst. Simon just got in the way. The Red Gyst. had been known as Edward Simon for most of his life. But now the poor guy was dead. He'd broke out of cover despite Alaska's orders and was then run over by the Blues' warthog.

Someone Simon's death had united the two opposing teams, and the two Freelancers were going to be the targets. Simulation Troopers were far from good fighters, they were weak and untrained. But they were overwhelming in large numbers. In this case, Alaska recognized the group as something like an angry mob.

The two pushed forward, trudging through the thick snow in the centre of the icy canyon. According to F.I.L.S.S. the planet of Sidewinder was completely covered in snow and ice and rocks and canyons and stuff. Sidewinder Gulch was the perfect representation of that.

Alaska was lucky, before escaping the Blue Base they managed to destroy the warthog. If they hadn't the all terrain vehicle would've flattened to two Freelancers in the heavy snow. Utah slipped and fell face first in the snow.

'Merde! Get up, Utah!'

She leant over and pulled him up. The two continued to run. Bullets whizzing overhead.

'Tu imbecile! We have to keep moving. Get to la ridge!' Alaska ordered.

The two pulled themselves from the snow. There were then far less bullets fly towards them as the Simulation Troopers on the chase began to fall into the snow. Now was the time to get away. They pushed and pushed, Blue Base was in sight. Since the chase began they must have completed a full rotation. But there was no way they could make it there now, not with a score and a half soldiers behind them. It was the ridgeline.

'What's the objective?' Utah called, sprinting close behind his ally.

'I don't know, we're outrunning them but we have to lose them completely!'

'Then what?'

'We call backup to cover us as we back out!'

'We can't be beaten by Sims! We have to take them!' Utah protested.

The ice they reached became extremely slippery. Alaska found it hard to run but guessed that digging toes in the ice would provide a foothold, but in turn would risk weakening the ice. Utah simply flailed his arms about in hopes not to lose balance.

A loud crunch signaled more problems arising. She could see the small structures atop the ridge, to the left and right teleporters. The left should lead to ruins and the right to Blue Base. They could lose them in the ruins. Alaska turned and saw that Utah had fallen through the ice. His torso was above the ice, blood darkened the blue water beneath. He must have cut his gut on the ice. The cold water would surely give him hyperthermia if he didn't get out.

Utah franticly tried to grasp a hold of the ice, the more he moved the bigger the tear in his skin. The more he tore, the more he sank. Alaska stepped over to him. She was stunned, if only for a millisecond, that Utah didn't ask for help. He wasn't being stubborn, and neither was he giving up. He wasn't in shock, was he was desperately trying to free himself.

She held out a hand, but realised that he wouldn't be willing to let go for longer than a second at risk of falling. So he continued to struggle. Alaska fed her right arm under his left armpit and hugged him with her left arm. She pulled. The ice beneath her crunched and began to sink. She had do quickly reposition her feet. She had doomed Utah, and maybe even herself – but only if she gave up now.

He went under.

No bubbles rose to the surface of the water. Only red lines, splashes and mists to show that he was losing blood. She still had a hold with her right arm. As she pulled, now flat on the snow she saw the others coming. The Reds and Blues were coming, now beginning to escape the snow.

There was a current under the ice, beginning to drag Agent Utah away.

'Frag out!' came the warnings of one of the Reds' grenadiers.

The grenade landed close to Alaska and shattered a massive hole in the glassy ice. Alaska could now see Utah clearly, he tried to float. She circled around the hole and using the current lifted him above the ice. Almost immediately he regained his strength.

'Fucking cold.' Utah shivered.

His belly was exposed through the black material under his while and khaki armor. A large bloody line identified his gut had been sliced open. It was open enough to need stitches, not yet anyway. Running would surely open the wound. He had to move anyway, or at least that's what he thought. He was wrong.

Moving only angered it pain, it bled more profusely and Utah was forced into a crouch. He slipped and landed back in the water once more. There was no time for stopping so Alaska was forced to stand up in order to pull Utah up. There was no time to take cover.

Bullets flew overhead. She tried with all her might, this time Utah was able to grab her so he could be pulled up. She continued, until the worst came. The bullets began to come at them lower and lower until one stray, and lucky shot flew straight through Agent Alaska's left knee.

She groaned in pain and nearly dropped. She was stronger than that, she assured herself as she continued to pull the man twice her weight out of the water. She couldn't let herself be beaten. _She, she, she._ It had to be about her, it was all a matter of distraction.

With one last attempt she pulled Jackson up. He clutched his stomach before noticing her leg.

'Oh damn, your knee!'

'Don't get distracted! Run!' Alaska screamed before pushing Utah in front of her.

He began to run as fast as he could, firing the magnum behind him in random directions. He ran but would stop for less of a second to hold his stomach together. Behind him Alaska limped. With every step she felt as though she were going to collapse.

With Utah's first shot behind him the French woman jumped.

'Ah!' She held her head down, covering it with her arms. 'Watch your fire!'

She had been so worried about being shot from the front her attention had been drawn away from those chasing her. A bullet from an Assault Rifle left the muzzle and clipped her right shoulder.

Her knees and elbows collided with the ice when she fell. Utah must have noticed her scream in pain because he turned around to help her. The two were close to the snow, nearly off the ice field. Utah put his hand on Sarah's shoulder to pull her up, not noticing the bloody shoulder. Again she screamed in pain. She dropped and in surprise he slipped onto his back. The two were crouched in pain. Alaska looked up and took note of the Reds and Blues now becoming dangerously close to them.

She stood and fired three bursts from her BR55 Battle Rifle. One burst of three bullets shredded through the helmet visor of Blue demolitions expert Pvt. Vivian Lips. Her body became limp and dropped to the ground, the magnum in her hand falling to the ice beneath her.

It was time to be getting the hell out of there. To the cliffs. And both soldiers noticed it, they both headed for the cliffs. Alaska ran and tried her best not to limp. Utah sprinted beside her taking no time to fire back. He didn't even try to hold his innards behind the skin. It had become a fear of his to be disemboweled.

By the time they reached the ridges the two frantically fumbled to climb the rocks to reach the ridgeline. Alaska reached the top first and was surprised to find a shotgun pointed at her face. Utah was next to arrive at the top. The first thing that he noticed were the various Blue corpses and the red flag. The red team's flag carrier was nicknamed Lips. And that was him, holding a shotgun to the French Freelancer's head.

Private First Class Smith Hendle, that was the man named 'Lips'. Utah wasn't sure why the sim trooper delayed, but he saw it as an opportunity. Utah quickly pulled himself up and leapt onto his feet. He tackled Lips, the shotgun fired but a millisecond too late. The pellets flew off into the sky, barely missing Alaska's face.

Utah dropped his magnum and removed the MA37 Individual Combat Weapon System, a classic assault rifle, from his back. He touched on the trigger lightly. One bullet launched from the nozzle of the gun and tore open the red's neck.

Again there would be no time to recover. So far in the battle Alaska had proven herself strategically intelligent time and time again. She could have easily left him, but she did not. Wasting no time Utah repaid the debt by holding out his hand and pulling Miss Chantelle up onto the ridgeline.

The two looked at the pile of bodies, then specifically at the bloodied and dead flag carrier that lay at their feet. What started out as a simple flag stealing skirmish turned into an all-out bloodbath against the Freelancers.

'Command. We'd like to call for an evacuation.' Utah radioed in.

It was likely that there wouldn't be enough Pelicans in the Mother of Invention. Recently the Agents had learned that the Project had scores of bases located on various worlds in order to transport units to different areas, including Sim Bases.

'Aye, aye. Sidewinder Command Outpost is sending a bird.' A woman's voice replied.

The two Freelancers looked over the edge of the ridge. Slowly the Reds and Blues had begun clambering up. A battle was coming, and it was likely to end badly for either the agents or the sims. Alaska pulled on Utah's arm as the two reached a hollowed out area of the mountain. There was supposed to be a teleporter at the other end, but there was none.

'What do we do now?' Utah panicked.

'I'll try my best and fix it. The teleporter must be locked down with a holographic lock.'

'So?'

'Holographic locks are near impossible to pick. Lucky for us, lockpicking is my specialty. You hold the line and I'll get us out.'

Alaska knelt by the deactivated teleporter and placed her BR55 Battle Rifle on the icy ground. Utah pulled out his Assault Rifle which had just hung from a strap over his shoulders. He reloaded. Plenty of rounds to spare. Bring it.

The first of the Simulation Troopers began pulling themselves up on top of the cliffs. They began to chant, to call out to the two Freelancers. So Utah retaliated by unloading a few rounds into the first of those who reached the top. Their lifeless bodies would imitate ragdolls and fall off the edge, pushing those climbing up behind them to the bottom of the cliff.

Round after round. Clip after clip. The Reds and Blues ran up to meet their inevitable dooms. It was only when the Simulation Troopers began to navigate through the underground ruins that Utah's attention was forced to the right a little. He was fighting in two directions. The distraction gave the Sims those extra few moments to push forwards before being cut down.

An echo was heard. A sniper shot rang through the small hollowed out room behind him. Utah turned to Blue Base. A sniper had fired a shot at Utah, forcing him to back track from the top of the cliffs and beside Alaska who was busily fixing the teleporter.

It was then that Chuck arrived. Chuck was a Blue soldier at Sidewinder Gulch. He had two kids, and a loving wife at home. Before being recruited into the Blue army to fight in a civil war that didn't really exist, his wife had loved him terribly. She cried in horror at the thought of her darling husband leaving her for such a long time. It never occurred to her the Lt. Chuck Tester, a scout in a war built on deception, would die. But he did. And she would soon have to live with that knowledge.

Utah fired a burst of Assault Rifle fire into the torso of Lt. Chuck. The man died instantly. Utah hadn't known that the poor man had a family, he was a victim, a casualty of war. A war that never, ever, existed. It was at this moment that Agent Utah realized that the leader of Project Freelancer was not a nice man at all.

'Got it!' Alaska yelled.

She swung around, Battle Rifle in hand and began to fire bursts at their attackers. She covered Utah as he doubled back into the teleporter. She soon followed, leaving a grenade just outside of the travel zone.

As they arrived at the other side they realized they had arrived at Blue Base. The Blue sniper who had fired at Utah was still perched by the window, he hadn't even realized that Utah was right behind him. The white Freelancer approached carefully before swinging a knife into the right ear of the Simulation Trooper.

Both Utah and Alaska took the Sim troopers spot and watched as the hollowed out room in the mountain exploded into flames. The teleporter deactivated once more and the Reds and Blues were left confused as to where the two 'special forces' soldiers had escaped to.

Interrupting their search a large Pelican descended from the cloudy skies in the centre of the canyon. The Reds and Blues were awestruck by the sight of a heavily armed dropship. It rotated to reveal a lowered ramp facing the Blue Base. A squad of six silver soldiers, UNSC Project Freelancer soldiers, jumped out the back. One waved the agents over. The six were a precaution, in case the simulation troopers hadn't learnt their lessons.

**Mother of Invention, Interview Room**

The light was blinding, and it made York wonder whether or not the visor of his helmet could have reduced it. He'd of course taken it off. It would have been rude to keep it on.

'…it just ended. Kaput.' York continued.

'It's perfectly natural to feel this way, Agent York.' The Counselor assured him.

The room was pitch black, aside for the lamp hanging above the two sitting at the grey table. The only things that York could see was the table, and the Counselor's face. This was more of an interrogation room rather than an interview room.

'Is it? I'm a space marine. I'm supposed to kill for a living, and I can't. I'm too afraid to!'

'It doesn't sound like you are afraid to, Agent York. However, it does sound like you're trying to make excuses. Everyone struggles when they kill a person for the first time.'

'Do they? It's that emptiness! That darkness! A second of life comes to an end! I didn't kill him, he became nothingness! He's hollow! …he's not even a he! He's a…' York began waving his arms about.

The Counselor remained with a straight face. York however, smiled embarrassedly.

'I understand you are struggling. The feelings will go away. But your old feelings won't ever come back.'

'How so?'

'It's like losing something. Like losing something that isn't physical, that you can never get back.'

York couldn't help but feel that the Counselor was trying to reference the 'virginity' talk. And that was an image that York would like to avoid very much so.

'I still don't understand, Counselor.' York said.

'You will never get the feelings of innocence back, this guilt will likely stay with you. The best you can do is to continue killing until you have forgotten this moment.'

Agent York began to burst out into laughter. 'You must be the first Counselor to ever convince their clients to kill more people.'

'I understand that that must sound humorous.'

'That's because it is! It's also ridiculous! I came here asking you if I should quit, because I hesitated in killing him. I didn't want assurance that I was mentally stable. I already know I'm not!'

The Counselor stood up and returned to the shadows, out of sight.

'I apologize if I have offended you. I was only trying to help.'

'I get that. Thanks.'

A long scrape was heard behind the freelancer. York turned to see the Counselor open the door to the hallway. The room filled with light and suddenly he could see again. He left the Counselor in the interview room and continued down the main hallway on his way to the Mess Hall.

When York had first returned to the Mother of Invention the Counselor had greeted him and congratulated him on a successful mission. Apparently all simulation troopers are expendable. To quote the counselor 'there are an endless supply of idiots out their desiring to join the army.'

The Counselor had told him that after Jenkins was caught having betrayed the Reds he returned to Blue Base. Jenkins led an assault with the Blues on Red Base and ambushed them. The Reds were all slaughtered in a small firefight that also saw Jenkins killed. In fact, the only survivors were two Blues. One named Vince Johnson and another Alfonse Dingo. The two would continue their service at Blood Gulch, more replacements would be sent in and more Sims would die. The circle of life.

**Valhalla Creek, Valhalla Simulation Canyon**

The rocks were high and provided enough cover for Carolina to move unnoticed. Somewhere nearby Iowa would be moving parallel to her. The two were headed to the Red Base. Red Base was at the other side of the canyon near a beach. The Blue Base was by a waterfall, now behind them. Through the rocks was a creek, a river. That's where Agent Carolina was.

As far as she was aware, Agent Iowa was moving through the caves to her right moving alongside the red base. While they were headed to Red Base, they didn't actually want to go there. Their mission was to retrieve explosives from a Red Convoy that would be moving between both Iowa and Carolina.

She stopped at the end of the cavernous creeks, looking out onto the grass in front and to the right of her. Eventually the Reds would pass through there. It was all a matter of time.

Agent Iowa was navigating through the caves with ease. They weren't as complex as the databanks had originally implied. By the time he reached the cave exit he could easily see the reds moving out. Iowa unsheathed the Katana from his back. It was only a matter of time.

Carolina pushed forwards, taking cover behind a boulder. The Reds were now in sight for her, and passing under a large rock set. They could be easily ambushed, even by the terrible soldiers of the Blue Army.

Pvt. Thomas Buck. He was called 'Buck' by his mates. He was a Reconnaissance soldier armed with an Assault Rifle. Pvt. Reggie Side, or Regg, was also Recon. The convoy was made up of the two of them and their leader. A female Gyst. by the name of Kat Felinne. She had a sniper rifle.

The Reds were navigating the demolitions on a mongoose which they were pushing themselves. Carolina's guess was that they intended to prime the explosives and roll the vehicle into Blue Base so they could blow them up.

She spotted Iowa. The golden Hayabusa perched himself above the Reds on one of the various rocks. They had no idea that they were surrounded. Iowa began waving his hands, signaling her. But they were all bullshit hand signs anyway. Iowa was taking the piss. So she took the piss too and stuck the finger up at him. He pretended to look offended.

He showed her his katana and leapt off the rock. Landing on his feet his katana found itself beside the head of Regg. He swiveled on his feet and decapitated the simulation trooper. The body fell to the ground. Carolina began to run up to the convoy when Iowa swiveled again and threw the katana at a second soldier, Buck. The sword pierced and protruded through the throat of the third red. Blood squirted out, following a pattern of his beating heart. Distracted Kat turned to Iowa at which point Carolina pulled out her Battle Rifle and fired, the bullets hitting the leader in the back of the neck. She fell to the ground and died.

Iowa pulled the katana from the body on the ground and flicked the splattered blood at the ground beneath his feet. Mission success.

**Mother of Invention, Hallways**

Consumed in his own thoughts he hadn't even noticed Agent Rhode trailing beside him.

'You good?' he asked York concerned.

'Huh, yeah. Just had trouble in the mission today.'

'What happened?'

'Have you ever killed anyone?'

'Ah,' Rhode responded as if he understood. 'Your first kill. What happened?'

'I hesitated, but I did shoot. I can't stop thinking about it. I keep picturing the other Blues crying at their dead friend.'

'Ooh. Bad. You never forget your first kill.'

'You don't?' York said concerned.

'No. Then you take your second kill and think you'll never forget that too. Then you're third and fourth. You will begin to forget them, but it's your first you never forget. That one will stay with you forever.'

'Damn.'

'Don't worry. You may not forget it, but you will learn of a way to deal with it. If it's guilt you've got, then that will pass. Give it time.'

The two continued walking down the halls towards the Mess Hall. York was looking at his own feet as he wandered, unlike him Rhode was wearing his full armor. Rhode could see exactly what York was thinking because his face was uncovered. When was Carolina going to be back, York asked himself?

'What was your first kill?' York finally asked Rhode.

Rhode thought back, trying to recall the experience. It had been a solid six months or something since it had happened. And since it had happened he'd killed a good ten to twenty criminals in training ops.

'I was in a white room, a small square room. It looked like a hospital, that's a bright it was. The white lights made everything, just bright. I was on my knees in front of The Director. Church, he kept talking to me. He kept telling me to do it. In the corner of the room behind him was another person. They were wearing really thick clothing and a woolen sack over their head. I wasn't sure if it was a woman or man.

'If I didn't shoot I wouldn't be accepted into the Project. If I asked any questions at all about them, I wouldn't be accepted. The trial, it was my right of passage, my initiation. I tried to weigh the gun, I recognized the model. I hoped to feel that there was no bullet loaded in the gun. But it was custom designed.

'I must have sat there for a long ten minutes waiting to decide whether this man would make me kill another person. Another presumably innocent person. Little did I know that pulling the trigger would rob me of that innocence.

'I looked at the man towering over me one last second before aiming into the corner and squeezing the trigger. It didn't matter that the person couldn't see me, I turned away to avoid looking at them while I murdered them. Turned out that the person I killed was competing with me to become Agent Rhode. _She_ was a mother, she wasn't as good a soldier as I and that was why she was in the chair. If I failed then she would have been the one you were talking to here today.' Rhode coughed, as if choking on tears.

York didn't know how to comfort him. He couldn't.

**Mother of Invention, Mess Hall**

'How do you know that?' Iowa asked Alaska, trying to call her bluff.

'Because F.I.L.S.S. told me. Apparently she wasn't the first AI on the Mother of Invention.'

'Then who was?' Wyoming asked curious as ever.

The three Freelancers had gathered, Alaska and Iowa from their missions. They had come across each other eager for some entertainment. Now they had found it.

'His name was Victor.' She said.

'Victor?' Wyoming asked confused.

'Oui. Victor was a dumb AI, like F.I.L.S.S.'

'A dumb AI?' Wyoming asked.

'Oh mon dieu. Oui, a dumb AI. Haven't you been paying attention? A dumb AI is an AI that has no emotion. A dumb AI is not based on any individual person. A dumb AI is made to assist in tasks, it performs duties. It has no emotion.'

'F.I.L.S.S. has emotions.' Wyoming interrupted.

'No, she is programmed to act as though she has emotions.' Iowa clarified.

'Oui. A smart AI is built and based off a person, it is 'born' and develops its own emotions and personality as a normal human does. It cannot be built in the same way as one builds a computer program. A dumb AI can legally be built by anyone. A smart AI must be granted by the UNSC. Victor was built by The Director.'

'Okay, so who is Victor?' Iowa asked.

'I'm getting to that. So F.I.L.S.S. is an abbreviation of Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System. Victor is an abbreviation of Virtual Intelligence Computer that Talks with an Open-mind and Respectfully.'

Iowa and Wyoming burst into laughter.

'That's the weirdest name I've ever heard!' Iowa cried.

'And that's not the weirdest thing.' Alaska continued. 'His personality made him an asshole. He was a dick. Une idiot. And eventually Church grew tired of his attitude. So Church reprogrammed him to be more like F.I.L.S.S. Unfortunately he was unable to remove the past personality so the two attitudes clashed. Occasionally Victor would glitch or crash and revert to his rude and inappropriate personality for a short time.

'Church predicted the AI would one day permanently revert back, and possibly under influence from bad people may develop the desire for revenge. So The Director relocated him to Command where he forced Victor to take on the role of a Communications Officer. That's when F.I.L.L.S. was built and replaced Victor. Victor became a Communications Officer for a Simulation Base, occasionally changing between different Bases.'

There was a silence as the two Freelancers tried to accept what they'd heard. The story of Victor wasn't classified, but it was an important conversation that many people mustn't have cared to talk about.

'So, Alaska' Wyoming began. 'What would happen if we asked the Director about this?'

'Uh, I'm not sure. But I doubt he'd deny it.' Alaska answered.

Almost simultaneously Rhode and York entered from one side of the Mess Hall at the same time as Carolina. York waved but Carolina interrupted and declared that all the Agents were being summoned, for their first classroom lecture.

**Mother of Invention, Classroom B**

Classroom B overlooked the training floor, it was high above the Observation Deck and one would barely be able to see if a battle was taking place. Here, in the classroom were the first nine agents of Project Freelancer. York was so busy looking out the window he hadn't noticed The Counselor ask him a question.

'…sorry?' York asked.

'Were you zoning out again, Agent York?' the Director began to lecture.

'Yes. I'm sorry.' York apologized guiltily.

All the Agents were wearing their full body armor with the exception of the helmets. York had signed up with Project Freelancer for two reasons: to join his girlfriend and to fight aliens. He had not joined to go back to school. Especially not when someone as dull and droney as the Counselor was the teacher.

'As I was saying. The armor you have comes equipped with slots built to host armor enhancements. This armor and the enhancement are designed solely by Project Freelancer. The enhancements serve with the unique purpose to aid the agent wielding one in battle. Each of you will gain one, and each of you will have a unique one. No two enhancements will be the same. Some of you will need pipelines to the Command Servers.'

'A Pipeline is a connection between your suits and the Project Freelancer power grid. Your enhancements are extremely powerful and are likely to cause you severe damage. Calculations necessary to use the enhancements will take place at the Command Server.' The Director but in before the Counselor continued.

'Indeed. Just because you will be granted an enhancement does not mean you will have the permission to use it, especially if your enhancement requires a pipeline. Not all will.' The Counselor looked up at the holo-board behind him. 'That will conclude today's class. Remember to read up on your maintenance of each enhancement.'

The agents began packing up, wasting no time and ignoring most of what The Counselor was saying.

'…each of you will be granted your enhancements by the end of the day. Dismissed.'

As they exited the room side by side, each agent grinned excitedly. York celebrated with Rhode and Iowa. Wyoming celebrated with Carolina. Alaska celebrated with Virginia, Nevada and Utah. Today was the first step to becoming the Freelancers that the Director had wanted them to be.

**Mother of Invention, Mess Hall**

Still all the agents wore only their body armor. Each sat side by side on two adjacent tables drinking their soup for dinner. This had been the first decent meal they'd received in the week they'd been at the Mother of Invention.

Off to the side Sarah Ashton sat alone. She looked depressed, Rhode had noticed.

'Oi, Ashton!' he called for her.

Sarah looked up from her soup. She was surprised that she was being talked to by the other Freelancers. Rhode waved her over, pointing to the empty seat across from him. She continued to sit confused and stunned so he waved over again.

Sarah slowly strolled her way over to the Agents. Only Rhode and York were paying attention to the mechanic. The rest were busy in conversation about what they wanted their armor enhancements to be. Sarah placed her tray and bowl on the table beside York and across from Rhode.

She stared at them for a short few moments, embarrassed. York and Rhode stared at her, expecting her to speak. Instead she looked down at her food and continued to drink.

'Are you okay there, Sarah?' asked Rhode.

'Yeah, I'm just surprised.' She replied slowly.

'And why's that?'

'What?'

'Why are you surprised?'

'I'm surprised you invited me over here.' She blushed.

'Why would you be surprised about that?' York asked confused.

'Well, you guys are elite agents. You're the guys that all the soldiers here gossip about. You're the guys that everyone here wished they could be. You're pretty much superheroes.'

'Okay,' Rhode continued. 'So why are you surprised?'

'I'm not a super elite space warrior like you.'

'Yeah, but you're our friend!' Rhode laughed.

'What?'

'You, Sarah Ashton, are our friend.'

'I am? But I can't fight!'

'So?' York began. 'Being a soldier isn't just about fighting. You're a mechanic. You fix the things we're too stupid to not break! Without you we'd fall apart.'

'Of course you'd say that. I bet you too have killed a hundred guys.' Sarah said, looking down at her soup again.

'So what if we have?' Rhode questioned.

'Well, I mean…' she looked down and whispered. 'I've never even picked up a gun. Not in my entire life.'

She was clearly ashamed. York and Rhode just looked at each other, surprised she'd be ashamed of this.

'You're not ashamed of that, are you?' York lowered his voice.

'Of course I am!'

'Okay, okay. Rhode and I will keep that a secret.' York assured her.

'Promise.' Rhode added.

'You know,' York whispered. 'Today was the first time I ever killed someone. I hesitated. I did it and just can't forgive myself.'

'What?'

'I'm scared to kill people.'

'But you're a Freelancer!'

'I know. But that doesn't mean I like what I do. Listen, you promise to keep my secret if I promise to keep yours.'

'I will.'

York and Rhode knew that chances were, other agents knew that York hadn't killed many people in the past. They must have, the point was that York and Rhode were trying to make Ashton feel part of the group. For the first time they'd seen her, Sarah actually laughed alongside the others and didn't take forever to drink her soup.

'Not a bad idea.' Utah admitted to Alaska.

On Carolina's end of the table, her Alaska and Utah were having fun discussing what would be the best enhancement and who would be more likely to receive it.

'I still think flying would be the best enhancement.' Said Utah.

'Flying?!' laughed Carolina. 'That's impossible! It's got to be something possible. What's flying going to do? Make you grow wings?'

'Well when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.' Utah said.

'That's because it is stupid!' Alaska yelled.

'What would you want, Alaska?' Carolina asked her.

'Energy. Some kind of momentum thing. To be able to manipulate speed and strength.'

'Ooh, trippy.' Utah laughed.

'Okay, so transfer all your strength into speed.' Carolina thought.

'Oui.'

'That'd make you be able to pass through walls. I like that.'

'Okay, no way.' Utah cut in. 'If flying is impossible, than so is that.'

But it wasn't long until they'd find out. A matter of minutes really.

**Mother of Invention, Armory**

At the end of the hallway was the glass case where York held his helmet. His armor should be in there. Instead the Director requested Agents wear their armor inside. The other Freelancers were already inside when he opened his weapon cache. In the locker rooms he had his own locker to store belongings. In his quarters he had his own drawer to store sentimentals. In his armory he had his own crate to store his own guns, grenades and enhancement.

And his enhancement was here.

York opened the cache to take look at a large spherical device. Upon fiddling with it, it began to whir, lights flickered, lights died. He thought that he might have broken in, instead it opened up to reveal a weird transparent straw with wires through the center of it.

The agent looked at schematics for his enhancement. Apparently the wires contained the coding necessary to alter his armor abilities. So, Agent York removed his helmet from the glass case. In the back of the helmet was an empty slot, oddly it didn't seem to fit the cord.

Taking another look at the schematics York discovered that the wires were to be fed through a plate located on the back of the torso armor. Before he knew it, Carolina had already released the latch and was feeding the wires into his armor. When she closed the hatch they paused.

'How do you feel?' Carolina asked slowly.

In truth York didn't feel different. Not in the slightest. He looked back in the cache and discovered from the schematics that the enhancement didn't require a pipeline to the command server. However, a connection would result in more efficient use of the device. What the hell did that mean?

'It's a healing unit!' Carolina exclaimed.

'What?'

'That's what the schematics say. You've got a healing unit.'

Was a healing unit some form of portable med pack? York turned towards Agent Carolina as she passed the information to him. According to the intel that had been provided to him the Healing Unit would replenish his health and recover wounds that he received in battle.

The Healing Unit would heal things such as cuts, bruises, bullet grazes, broken bones and minor gunshots to the arms and legs. Gunshots in the more critical areas, such as chest and head could be healed as long as the enhancement was connected to the Command Server. Using a pipeline also ensured that the enhancement healed injuries far quicker with minimal loss of blood. The device also provided him with a small 'kick start' (as the schematics put it) that would make him breathe more and pump his heart muscles at a faster rate. Through this he would be able to produce more blood which would make up for that in which he lost.

'Apparently it'll heal me in battle.' York said slowly, as if trying to get his head around it.

'Oh, okay. Well, you'll be needing that.'

Agent York had been so deep in thought he hadn't even realized that she had just insulted him. Eventually it clicked.

'Wait. Hey!'

'I'm just messing with ya.' Carolina laughed before trailing off elsewhere in the armory.

She passed some of the other agents opening their lockers and finding their enhancements. It wasn't her priority to see what the rest of them had been granted, she eagerly wanted to know what she was getting. It was a mix of excitement and nerves. What if she got something crumby?

It the third set of weapon caches she found hers. F.I.L.S.S. had displayed a screen marked 'Carolina' above her corresponding weapons cache. She lifted the lid and discovered not one, but two spheres.

Maybe they worked in unison? Maybe they were both minor? Maybe they were both the same enhancement but one was a backup or required two parts to run? Maybe one was a god damned virus scanner!? She was intrigued.

Beside the two devices was just the one single schematics list. Marked at the top was the name of the two enhancements: Speed Unit and Chameleon Unit. Without the need of another agent she removed her torso body armor after closing the doors. She didn't want anyone to peer in while she had her armor off. It was true that she was wearing the leather bodysuit underneath, but she couldn't wait for someone else to enter. So she closed the door, lucky to not share this armory with any of the other eight recruits, and began implementing the wires.

When they were both in place she placed the torso armor on. Just as she'd finished the door slid open and York entered. Talk about close timing.

'What'd you get?' he asked her.

'Uh, a Chameleon unit and a Speed unit.' She spoke slowly, confused.

It was likely she sounded just like York had. Both were confused. York was confused about the purpose of the Healing Unit. Carolina was confused about what both of his enhancements would do, and why she had two of them.

York picked up the schematics that she'd placed back in the crate. He observed them for a moment before reading them aloud for her.

'The Chameleon Unit provides the user with a colored overlay that hides the armor's true coloration. Through the use of this enhancement the user will be able to blend in with their background or disguise themselves as another.'

Carolina began to think about what the Chameleon armor might come in handy for. She began picturing herself changing colors from the lightish blue to an exotic yellow or pink. A warm fuzzy feeling groped at the back of her skull, lightly and numbingly tapping her brain. The warmth became a burn followed by a shock, and then there was nothing. It had only lasted a millisecond.

She hadn't realized that York had frozen. He dropped the schematics and under the helmet Carolina pictured he had an open jaw. She looked behind her, nothing. What had he been staring at? She then turned to look at her hands and arms. Pink. …Pink! Her armor had changed color! And all she had to do was think! She began picturing herself in other colors, greens, blacks, blues, reds. Her armor kept changing accordingly. Then it ceased and returned to its normal state.

'What!?' York exclaimed. 'You can control it with your mind?'

'…it would…it would seem so.'

'Mine's automatic. I have no control over mine.'

York turned bothered by what he had seen. It wasn't like he was offended, just confused (like he had been this whole time, just more). He picked up the schematics again.

'Speed Unit. Warning, first time users may experience increased speed in verbal language and physical movements. Upon first use the enhancement may make the user feel severely overheated. Repeated use of the enhancement will prevent muscle tear and fracture. Use of a pipeline to command servers will reduce and prevent any physical harm and risk befalling upon the user. First time users may also experience a cool down period in which their minds will run at a slower rate followed by a long period of unconsciousness.'

It was quite a lot of information to take in in such short a time. Two enhancements? Why was she granted two enhancements? Why was she given two when the other agents were all given one?

'Woah, and check this out.' York continued. 'Neither of these enhancements require a pipeline back to the command server.'

She turned to him.

'Man you're lucky.' He said.

She had suspected that maybe luck had nothing to do with it. Or maybe it did. Maybe it was lucky that her father was the head of Project Freelancer.

'Yes. Lucky.' She finished.

Elsewhere in the armory Wyoming had finished installing his enhancement into his armor. According to the schematics it had to be temporarily placed in the plate. For more permanent usage it would need to be implanted into him. According to the schematics all the Agents would eventually have to undergo surgery if they desired prolonged use of their enhancement.

'So what have you got?' Utah asked.

Agent Wyoming hadn't even noticed the fellow Freelancer come into this row of the armory.

'Nothing worth it. A load of bollocks if you ask me.' Wyoming replied.

'Why? Isn't any enhancement a good one?'

'No. Apparently not. One out of three times I'll be warped into oblivion if I use the damned thing.'

'That bad? What if you used the pipeline? At least you'll be safe then.'

'Nope. Using a connection with the command server lowers the chance to one in eight. It looks as though I may not be actually using it, chaps.'

Utah shook his head, pretending to be disappointed in what the Director had provided Reginald.

'Well if it changes anything, I haven't been cleared to use mine.'

'Do you know what your enhancement is?'

'Sure. But I haven't been authorized to use it. Hey, Wyoming. Maybe you could ask The Director to get it swapped?'

**The Mother of Invention, The Bridge**

Wyoming had passed the war room and surprised The Director and The Counselor. In truth, they hadn't expected to see any of the agents after their enhancements had been delivered.

'I'm sorry Agent Wyoming but that cannot be allowed.' Church persisted.

'Using it will kill me!'

'Agent Wyoming, I am sorry. The enhancements have been sorted, every agent has been assigned an enhancement appropriate to their skill set. It cannot be undone. I am sorry.'

'Balls! There is little chance of success if I use the enhancement!'

'Agent Wyoming, it is done.'

'No.'

'You know what, Agent Wyoming? I am not sorry! And you can go back to your quarters and do some research on the appropriate skills that the enhancement will provide you. Dismissed.'

'Sir!'

'Dismissed!'

Wyoming stood for a moment, unsure of himself. The Director and the Counselor merely stared at him back. Pissed off, the white agent turned and headed for the exit. Once he exited into the hallway he discovered Carolina on her way in. He nodded to her and let her in.

As Carolina brought herself to the Bridge she couldn't help but notice how astonishing the ship was. Here it was, The Mother of Invention in all her glory. At the moment the ship was orbiting a planet, the spherical world was below and could be seen through the large glass window out the front of The Bridge.

The Counselor and The Director were in deep conversation by the Director's control panel when she entered.

'Carolina. Am I to assume that everything was in order with the enhancements?' he asked politely. He didn't turn his head away from the datascreen that the Counselor was handing him.

'Uh, actually that's what I came to talk about.' She began shyly.

The Director looked up and lifted his glasses for a second before returning them to the small perch on his nose.

'You have my attention.'

Carolina sat for a moment, preparing herself. She had to gain her confidence. She had to be brave. She raised her voice and tried to show as much aggression and authority as she could muster.

'Why do I have two enhancements?'

'I beg your pardon.'

'Why the hell do I have two enhancements instead of one? You know that it's because I'm your daughter. Don't you. You're favoring me over the others because I am your own blood!'

'Excuse me.'

'I am telling you now. Stop it. It undermines you, to show weakness and favoritism. It makes me look bad!' Carolina continued ranting. 'Don't give me more of a chance because I am your daughter. Just- just stop it!'

Immediately the Director lit up, but not in a good way. His face grew red and he dropped the datascreen he had been holding onto the ground. The Counselor grasped as he did it. Her father, Leonard Church removed his glasses. In all her life she had never seen him do that. He was really, really mad.

'While you are part of the program, Agent Carolina, you are no daughter of mine!'

His harsh words struck her back. She felt like she had just been beaten down. For the first time in her life she saw his eyes in all their glory. And for the first time in her life she reminded that she was alone in the world. There was no one in her family, they were dead.

**-End-**


	5. Episode Four: Fresh Meat, First Blood

**Red vs. Blue The Freelancer Archives**

**Episode Four: Fresh Meat, First Blood**

**Mother of Invention, Docking Bay**

By the time Four Seven Niner had arrived the agents were already excitedly awaiting the new editions. The Pelican entered the docks and rotated so that the ramp was facing the agents. All nine were in full uniform, full armor. As it descended York briefly turned towards Carolina before lightly grasping at her hand in an attempt to hold it. She accepted at first but quickly let go. She had to show she was strong, let the others know their place with her. But York had to show something too, he needed to show that Carolina and he were a team; that they were together.

The Pelican landed and the ramp lowered. The next ten agents exited. It was clear from the way they stood that they were all confident in their abilities. It was clear from the way they interacted with each other that they were all friends, more or less. And it was clear from their physiques and builds that they were a diverse mix of males and females of different upbringings and cultures.

Oddly the Director hadn't come to brief and welcome the recruits. F.I.L.S.S. had been tasked with that job. Later Dr. Church would converse with the fresh meat at the War Room in a similar way to York and the others. The agents didn't stand at attention, but they stood informally side by side. York and the original Freelancer stood grouped nearby and watched.

Large screens lining the walls of the Docking Bay whirred and flashed to life. They began revealing images of the Freelancers one by one. As each name was called the agent would stand forward.

'Agent Oklahoma' F.I.L.S.S. introduced.

A female Freelancer stood forward in front of her companions. She nodded respectfully. She wore an ODST helmet, an EVA right shoulder pad and EOD left. Her chest armor was Scout class. Her armor coloration included a Yellow primary coat and Khaki secondary. A green Armor detail could be seen below her shoulder pads. Her personalized symbol was made up of a black shield in the background with a yellow bull in the foreground. The bull's horns and nose ring was brown.

'Agent Connecticut'

Next stood another female. This woman came equipped with an EOD helmet, Scout shoulder pads and a EOD chestplate. Her armor colors were Brown for her primaries and secondaries, with a white detail. Her symbol a Brown and White fox's face on a circular background. The fox's muzzle was white.

'Agent Colorado'

This next agent wasn't broad shouldered nor was necessarily solid. As he stepped forward he bent on a knee and held his arms up as if striking a lightning bolt. Colorado wore an ODST helmet with Mark VI shoulder pads and chestplate. He had a silver primary color, blue secondary and crimson details. His symbol had a black circle background and a silver unicorn with a blue horn.

'Agent North Dakota'

The next agent was another male. He stepped forward at attention. He wore a complete Mark VI armor set. His armor consisted of a Violet primary color, Green secondary and Green armor detail. His little emblem was a sniper rifle shell. It was dark green in color and had a violet outline.

'Agent Georgia'

Georgia stepped forward, he wore a CQB helmet much like Rhode. The rest of his armor was made up of standard Mark VI sets. His colors were a Green primary and Steel secondary with a Red armor detail. His symbol was a green and black wasp on a red circle background.

'Agent Jersey'

A large male stepped forward. He had a solid build and looked quite intimidating. He wore a Recon helmet, Security shoulder pads and an EVA chestplate. He had a steel primary color with Silver secondaries and armor details. His symbol consisted of a silver howling wolf on a black background. …yep, definitely intimidating.

'Agent Oregon'

Oregon, another male, stepped forward laughing behind his helmet. He stood with his arms crossed in an attempt to show confidence. York was unsure how Carolina was keeping calm with these new recruits. Oregon wore an EVA helmet with Scout shoulder pads and a CQB torso armor set. He had Steel primary armor color, Blue secondary colors and Steel armor detail. His personalized emblem consisted of a Blue and Silver skull with a bullet hole in the top of the head.

'Agent Florida'

As Oregon stepped back this next agent stepped forward and bowed. He wore an ODST helmet, Recon shoulder pads and CQB chest plate. His armor had a Blue primary color, Silver secondary color and a White armor detail. His personal symbol consisted of a white skull with an eyepatch and wings on a black arrowhead background.

'Agent Montana'

The second last of the agents stepped forwards. He wore a complete Mark VI armor set with a Ruby Wine primary color, Lavender secondary color and a Cyan armor detail. His symbol was made up of a red flame background and a bizarre symbol that appeared to be from an extraterrestrial language.

'And Agent Vermont.'

The final agent stood forward. She had a slender figure and looked as though she could move around without making much noise. She had a complete Mark VI armor set with the exception of an EVA chest plate. She had a Ruby Wine armor color, Pink secondary color and Orchid armor detail. The symbol consisted of a lavender rectangular background with a red mug with a skull on it. Poison.

Agent Vermont stepped back in line and all the screens around the Docking Bay died before F.I.L.S.S. continued.

'Welcome agents, to Project Freelancer. You are the newest group of recruits in our military branch. If you have any questions, you are welcome to contact me. The Director would like to see you in the War Room at 0400 Hours. In the mean time we have experienced agents here who you should converse with. They will be you allies in battle, after all. Good luck and have a nice day.' F.I.L.S.S. concluded.

Most of the new Freelancers grouped themselves amongst each other, leaving York and the 'experienced' agents excluded. In hopes of forming an introduction York brought Rhode and headed towards the new recruits. The others soon followed.

Virginia decided to split off from the others and head over to the one that had been introduced last, Agent Vermont. She removed her helmet as suddenly she was far more gorgeous that he had anticipated. It had been a long time since he had a girlfriend, or anything similar. He lost his girl Tanya when he joined the UNSC years earlier. When Vermont removed her helmet he first took note of her long and silky black hair. The hair was let down to her shoulders.

Vermont was talking to Agent Montana when Virginia arrived. She was facing away, and Montana nodded with his helmet in Virginia's general direction. She turned.

'Oh. What's wrong?' she asked.

'Wrong? Nothing. Not with you here.' He flirted.

Cheesy.

And she just shook her head.

'Alright, alright, alright.' Virginia jumped in. 'Let me start over. I'm Agent Virginia. What's your name?'

'Veronica. Or at least it was, now I'm just Vermont.'

'What a beautiful name.'

Another cheesy flirt. Although someone clearly took note of it, immediately after saying it the bulky Agent Montana walked off, shoving Virginia as he did. Virginia, taken back returned his attention to the girl he was trying (but failing) to impress.

'What's his problem?'

'Who, Montana?'

'Yeah. You two aren't…' he began to wave his hands about, implying that maybe the two were in a relationship.

'What? …oh, no. With him? No, no, no. He's my closest friend, or something like that. Nah, he just hangs around me. It's comforting I guess.'

'Oh, sure.' Virginia agreed pretending to understand. 'I get it.'

'So, will you care to show me around?' Vermont asked at last.

Agent Virginia nodded, and began to lead her away from the Docking Bay. Far behind Montana noticed and began to trail out alone.

Elsewhere York, Rhode and Iowa had begun cutting through the group towards the Agent North Dakota. He was standing by Agents Oklahoma and Florida. As soon as Rhode and the others arrive they all joined the conversation.

'Hey, I'm Agent Rhode.'

'I'm York.'

'I'm Iowa.'

North Dakota shook their hands. 'Well you can call me Dakota. It's a pleasure to meet you guys. Thanks for the warm introduction.'

Oklahoma and Florida then held out their hands.

'I'm Oklahoma, Oakey for short.'

'And I'm Florida. …Flor…ri…da. Nope, there isn't really much that can abbreviate Florida.'

Dakota stepped back politely to allow the others into the conversation. 'So how long have you guys been here on the Mother of Invention?' he asked.

'Uh, a few weeks now.' Iowa thought aloud.

'Approaching a month.' Rhode concluded.

'Well don't worry, we won't trip you guys over. You can count on us.' North assured.

'Who would you say is a team leader here?' Florida asked.

York stepped forward. 'Iowa here is an excellent combatant and strategist. He'd be pretty close.'

Then Iowa stepped in. 'Yeah, but York's girlfriend is the best. She would be an easy pick as team leader.'

'Girlfriend?' Oklahoma began. 'Who's that?'

'Agent Carolina. The one in the light blue.' Rhode jumped in. 'Same blue as my armor.'

Before the conversation could evolve F.I.L.S.S. interrupted over the intercom. 'Agents please standby. Florida, you have been summoned to the armory. Please return as soon as possible.' Florida nodded and began to make his way out. Oklahoma waited a few seconds before following.

'So to tell me a bit about yourself Dakota.' York requested.

'Well let's see. I grew up on Earth in Minnesota before moving off world. I have a twin sister. I'm a self-trained sniper.,,'

'Sniper,' Rhode was intrigued. 'You don't say. I always wanted to be a sniper.'

'Yeah? What's your specialty?'

'Me?' Rhode stalled. 'Well I guess I'm an infiltration specialist.'

'Hey Dakota, you were saying…' Iowa urged.

'No, that was it. I don't really have an interesting story. The Director came up to me asking if I wanted to put my sniper skills to good use. I accepted, he said he could pay.'

'You're getting paid?' Rhode burst out. 'What?!'

'No, no, no. I turned him down. I'm doing this for free. I'm doing this job for the adventurers.' North explained.

Rhode just couldn't understand. Rumor had it Wyoming was offered money too. What made them so special? The only thing they had in common was that they could both use sniper rifles. But that was it! Rhode could shoot a sniper rifle, was that really all it took?

'You coming, Rhode?' Iowa called out.

Agent Rhode Island turned to see York had taken Dakota and Iowa to another group in the Docking Bay. They were nearly out of the area when Iowa must have noticed he was lagging behind. Rhode chased after them.

Utah was wandering between conversations, looking for someone to talk to with Alaska when something he considered extraordinary happened. The new Agent Georgia removed his helmet, his face was extraordinarily familiar. Agent Georgia was his old 'pal Thom.

'Thom…?' Utah said to himself, shocked.

Immediately the Freelancer in white began to run towards Georgia. Alaska was left behind. Over the past month she had been developing a friendship with Utah, he made her feel as though she belonged. To see him break away didn't make her feel jealous, but somewhat unloved. She looked at her feet, it was time for her to leave. She had turned and was beginning to walk away when she felt a tug at her arm. It was the sort of tug a child would have, it reminded her of the innocence of childhood. Blushing she looked up.

'Where do you think you're off too?'

It was Utah.

He grabbed her by the arm and brought her to Agent Georgia. For a split moment she had been worried, she feared that she would be without a friend. Lucky for her, she had a good friend like Jackson who would look after her. Because of him, Georgia, Utah and Alaska would be a trio of friends.

'I was recruited not long after you, Jackson.' Georgia laughed. 'Yeah, I was in the ambulance on my way to the hospital when we pulled over. I thought there was a problem, like I was about to be shot. Apparently The Director had stopped it. One of his men brought me to a UNSC hospital where I recovered. So really, I've been a Freelancer as long as you. It just took me a few weeks more to recover.'

'This is crazy.' Utah smiled. 'Oh, Thom. I'd like you to meet my friend.' Utah stepped back and held his arm towards her. 'This is Agent Alaska. I hope the three of us will be good friends while we're here.'

'Indeed.' Georgia nodded. 'Alaska, pleased to meet you.'

'Enchante.' She welcomed him.

'French, how much of it do you speak?' he asked.

'Fluently.' Alaska said in her French accent.

Georgia stepped back, surprised. He hadn't expected her to be truly French.

'Well then. I didn't know that Project Freelancer was a multicultural recruitment branch.' He said before noticing Alaska tip her head as if offended. 'No. No, I mean it's good. It's good to see a French person as a Freelancer. Actually, to be honest I'm quite excited to be a part of your team.'

'In that case. You are welcome, ami.'

Interrupting the conversation a young male Freelancer designated Agent Colorado wandered through. 'Pleasure to meet you. Yep, I'm Agent Colorado. Thank you, thank you. At your service. Hold the applause.' He nodded and moved on.

There was an awkward silence between the three.

Colorado then moved on to some of the other agents, specifically Agent Carolina, Nevada and Oregon. He had wanted to meet up with the British one, that Agent Wyoming – but that guy had left alone. He wandered up to her, others had said she was the leader.

'Hey there, gal.' he opened.

'Uh, hello.' Carolina replied.

'I'm Agent Colorado. But you… can call me Senior Sexy.' He spoke before roaring like a lion.

Chicks dig majestic cats. …in a non-creepy way of course.

'No. Uh, Agent Colorado will do.'

'Yes. Et tu?' he asked for their names.

The three broke into laughter quite spontaneously.

'Et toi.' Carolina corrected.

'What?'

'It's et toi. Not et tu. Badly conjugated.'

'Are you sure?' Colorado challenged.

'We have a French Freelancer. I _am _sure.'

Oregon stepped forward. 'Don't worry about him. Kid's a tad _special_.'

'Special, more like be-a-utiful.' Colorado laughed.

'Relax, kid. Keep trying to make friends.' Oregon suggested.

'At least I have friends.' Colorado raspberried.

'Agent C, go play with someone else.' He shook his head. And Colorado walked away. 'Smartass.' Oregon whispered under his breath.

If Colorado was a dog, then Oregon would be the leash. Agent Colorado moved on towards another group. By the closest wall near the groups of agents leaned Agent Jersey, the silver demon in armor. Colorado leant against the wall and crossed his arms.

'Tough gig.' Colorado shook his gig.

'_Piss off._' Jersey's voice was deep and raspy.

'What?'

'_Get away from me or I will feed you your spine.'_

'…right.'

And Agent C left.

**Training Floor, Mother of Invention**

'…three… two… one. Round begin.'

Agent Dakota pushed through the center from his side (left) in the lockdown paintball map. As he pushed forward he was careful not to reveal himself. Beside him pushed Agent Connecticut. The two moved in sync in an attempt to practically charge their enemies. The databanks showed that Agent North Dakota was quite the strategist, and Carolina recognized that this would be a trait she would enjoy fight beside him.

Carolina had been watching from the Observation Deck with most of the other Freelancers both new and old. While Dakota and Connecticut moved in from the left of the arena Carolina wondered where their teammate had gone. Fighting with them in Team One was supposed to be Agent Jersey. Jersey was nowhere to be seen.

Dakota and Connecticut were careful to push forward in sequences. Being too eager to push forward would likely result in them being careless, careless soldiers always died. They knew this very well. The training session was on its twelfth round. Unlike other training sessions that had played out, this one was extremely amusing to watch. The score was Team One with six points and Team Two with five.

Then Jersey appeared. He had disobeyed Dakota's orders. Dakota had established himself as team leader, Connecticut felt she followed orders well and Jersey was stubborn and believed he wasn't good at working with others. Dakota didn't want to disappoint so he made a rule that orders had to be voted on. It was a process Carolina disagreed in. Carolina believed in giving and following orders, no second guessing.

Anyway, she had spotted Jersey's head pop up at the farthest end of the map. He wasn't outside the map but about two meters in. She wasn't aware whether the rest of the Freelancers in the observation deck had noticed, but she had. All the others were conversing in their little groups, she stood by the window and watched. Those of the Freelancers who couldn't see watched from the various screens inside the deck.

One of the doors behind her slid open. Inside came Agent Colorado and Utah. She had wondered where Utah was. Georgia, Utah and Alaska were really hitting it off as friends. When Carolina arrived at the Observation Deck pre-training she had wondered where Utah was. Here he and Colorado came in pulling in two weapons caches each. These ones appeared to have come from the Docking Bay.

They stacked the boxes up two by two and jumped on one each. Each of the agents activated the short distance radio so that everyone in the Observation Deck could hear them. Then they began commentating. Carolina smiled. It was quite humorous actually.

Distracted for a moment she noticed she hadn't paid much attention to those on Team Two. They were losing, but not by much at all. Team Two was made up of Agents Oregon, Oklahoma and Vermont. Oregon acted as their leader. The Freelancer database had marked most of the background on Oregon as 'classified'. What wasn't covered in black ink suggested he was a veteran of war, yet only around his mid to late twenties.

Team Two had moved very little this round. Vermont and Oklahoma had been posted on the boundaries of the arena to ensure they weren't flanked by Jersey again. Oregon stayed in the center on their boundary. They were laying a trap for Dakota and the other agents. The intensity of the events unfolding below were quite outstanding.

On the ground however, it wasn't outstanding but more frightening. Upgrades to the paint over the past month had raised the amount of pain Agents received when hit by a shot. The Director had hoped this would raise desperation and help increase strategy. This is what Dakota had been told before going in.

Agents Iowa, Rhode and York had befriended him, but left him out in the open to get shot at. He wasn't alone, he had Connecticut. She was nice. Jersey, he wasn't so much.

He and Connecticut must have covered half of the distance of the arena by now. He looked at her, both crouched behind pillars three away from each other. No sign of Jersey. No sign of Oregon. No sign of anyone. He held up his hand and waved it towards the enemy starting positions. The two stood up the slightest bit higher before moving out.

A glimpse.

When moving up and around cover for a split second he thought he saw an arm. Possibly Oregon's. He looked up at Connecticut. He pointed to his visor and then his arm. She couldn't understand. So he repeated the sequence again but opened by pointing around the pillar. She proceeded to do so. But shook her head. No Oregon.

They were about to move up when she looked again. Immediately after turning she stood upright and flattened herself against the pillar. Dakota didn't know any hand signals for 'what's wrong'. So he activated his close-range personal radio, connecting it only to Connecticut. He was at risk of accidentally broadcasting to the enemy in doing this.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'I saw him. He looked around at the same second.' She whispered.

'Shit.'

'Should we fall back?'

'No.' Dakota whispered. 'He's probably doing what you're doing, hiding.'

The two began to turn around the pillars to move up when Oregon jumped out of cover between the pillars that resided in front of Dakota and Connecticut. Ambushed.

'Wrong, assholes.' Oregon laughed as he fired a burst of paint pellets towards Dakota.

Dakota dove out of the way towards more pillars, meanwhile Oregon turned to Connecticut. Surprise was the ultimate weapon, it prevents enemies from attacking – even if only for a second. Connecticut was a victim of this trap. As the pellets rained down on her though, she rose to the occasion and ducked around the pillar. She turned around the whole thing until she was behind her attacker. She fired but Oregon ducked. Dakota popped out of cover and suddenly Oregon was surrounded.

The victory only lasted a millisecond as Oklahoma and Vermont finished off the ambush and suppressed Connecticut, freeing Oregon. Dakota fired on the Team Two leader but missed. Oregon dove and Dakota fired to where Oregon was about to land. What would have hit, did not. In the split second before the pellet hit him, Oregon crouched to his knees and activated his armor enhancement.

A large rectangular holographic shield. The Hardlight Shield. It glowed orange and seemed to deflect the paint with ease. The 'I win' button it the battle. Two seconds later the shield disappeared. There was a pause, a moment of quietness where underneath his EVA 'fishbowl' visor Dakota knew that Oregon was grinning.

Then Connecticut fired, but at Oregon. Dakota couldn't see the battle near her, but he knew she had fired. Oregon turned suddenly and reactivated the Hardlight Shield. Oregon raised the shield once more, only this time it glitched. The shield flickered and died, the glitch zapping the agent with a small electric shock to stun him. Connecticut again saw this as an opportunity to again fire, while he was inert. But he recovered and raised the shield again just in time to deflect. It flickered once more, shocking Oregon quite violently until he collapsed on the ground. He was still awake and began trying to lift himself.

Dakota seized the moment and fired.

Oregon was out.

A pipeline was needed for Oregon's armor enhancement to work. Without it, it was clear it just wasn't effective. Carolina wondered whether or not the other agents in the training arena had gathered their armor enhancements yet. She wondered what they were and whether they needed a live feed to the Command Server, like Oregon's. She looked back towards the battle at hand and wondered what was going through Connecticut's head.

Adrenaline. She wasn't entirely aware of what was happening. It was all combat and no time to think. There were pellets buzzing overhead and shots rang out across the arena. They were a lot more silent than normal gunshots, but still enough to make Connecticut shiver. She fired twice in Vermont's general direction. Looking back she saw it, Oregon was gunned down.

She realized how bad it could be for her if Oklahoma showed up out of the blue. Connecticut turned as Vermont leapt into cover. Oklahoma did, just as she predicted, come out of hiding. Oakey fired, the paint grazing the back of Connecticut's right hand. Her fingers stiffened under the effects of the shot. That was it, no paralysis. She raised her eye line to see Oklahoma's and knew her time was done.

Oklahoma had her gun pointed at Connecticut and Connecticut had her gun pointed to the ground. Another shimmer, similar to when she had seen Agent Oregon. From behind Agent Oklahoma appeared Agent Jersey, even if only for a second. The massive silver Freelancer began to run past Oklahoma but stopped, lifted his right leg an dropped it behind one of Oklahoma's knee. She collapsed and he drew back a fist before throwing a punch at the back of her head before shooting her once in the back. It all took place in a second, and in that same second it all ended.

Two down, all that was left was little miss Veronica. Agent Vermont. Dakota was still catching his breath from the fast paced battle with Oregon. Connecticut would have been too if Jersey hadn't ended the fight early. But then she realized, if Jersey hadn't ended the fight early she would have been shot by Oklahoma.

Too much confusion. But Connecticut felt like she owed Jersey so she pushed forwards and began to follow him in the chase to track down Agent Vermont. It wasn't hard. Connecticut merely scooted around the pillar that Vermont had just leapt behind and found Jersey looming over her having just punched the gun from her grip. A second later, casually, Jersey fired at her and turned away back to base.

'Point Team One. Having 12 rounds, the score is now: 7, 0. Advantage: Team One. With two rounds left Team One only needs to score 1 point to win. Game point. If Team Two scores two points the lightning round will begin. Agents, prepare.' F.I.L.S.S. said.

On each side Carolina observed the Agents pick their tools. She wondered whether or not they were confident. Unfortunately, she was no behavioral analyst. She had no idea what was running through their minds from this distance.

Vermont had been running tactics through her head. This was no time to screw up. On a map such as this, tactics were limited. If you weren't in cover you were almost completely exposed. Other tactics had already been done before. Outflanking, done. Ambushing, done. Once a tactic was tried, everyone would know it forever.

'Alright. I'm not about to lose my first training session.' She announced. 'So this is what we're going to do. I'm taking charge.'

'My ass you are.' Oregon growled.

'You don't have a choice. We're losing under _your_ command.'

'Don't we at least get to vote?' Oklahoma asked innocently.

'Sure.' Vermont compromised. 'As long as I'm the one you vote for.'

'Sorry, love. But I'm in charge and there ain't jack shit you can do about it.' Oregon taunted.

'Watch me.'

On the other side of the arena is was all butterflies and rainbows, or at least was when compared to the inner team conflict occurring at Team Two. Dakota had continued to ask for opinions on strategy, and again Jersey shrugged. Dakota knew that the silver warrior was just going to leave and ignore orders as soon as they were given, so he instead turned to his good friend Connecticut.

'We could give 'em a taste of their own medicine.' Connecticut suggested.

'You think we lay a trap?' Dakota responded.

'Hide out in a corner of the map, shoot on sight.'

'I like it. But on a map like this any strategy is expected.' Dakota realized.

'Charge?'

'What?'

'What if we just came at them guns-a-blazing. We have one point left to do what we want with. We can afford to make a mistake.'

In mid conversation F.I.L.S.S. cut in. 'Round begins in three…two…one. Round begin.'

Dakota turned towards the battlefield and loaded his gun. Connecticut did the same. A second ago Jersey had been in his peripherals to his left, now he was gone just as expected. Jersey likely completed the exact same tactic that he'd done in the previous round. No time. Go. The two sprinted through the center, each firing a few shots randomly in an attempt to at least scare the enemy.

Within seconds they were on top of the enemy. Agent Vermont clotheslined Connecticut and forced her on her back. Vermont sacrificed the use of her gun in doing so. Connecticut retaliate by rocking on her back and jumping to her feet. She wasn't used to hand-to-hand combat but knew perfectly well that Vermont was.

Vermont would raise her hand to punch Connecticut in the cheek, Connecticut would deflect it and try to throw the fist back – only to fail and just charge the momentum of her opponents strikes. Connecticut was on the defense, Vermont continued to attack with flurries of kicks, punches and slaps in order to get her on the ground. The first on the ground would lose, that was the basic rule of combat.

Vermont spin kicked and clipped Connecticut's hip throwing her back. She stumbled, but held her ground. She pulled herself up by grabbing a pillar. Then Vermont leapt off the ground and in all her force backflipped, her feet kicking Connecticut's helmet off.

This was the first time that Vermont had ever seen Connecticut. In a completely not weird way she found her opponent somewhat attractive. She was quite a pale girl with a Mohawk folded over the right side of her head. A young goth chick. Vermont was momentarily distracted by the girl's physical features and the fact she'd just managed to kick another Freelancer's helmet off. She was distracted for long enough that Connecticut actually managed to pull her helmet back on over her head.

A second was all Connecticut needed to duck into cover. In that second Vermont drew her gun again. The girl was gone. A second later Connecticut reappeared sprinting towards another area of cover. Vermont fired thrice. The last two hit Connecticut. She was certain. But the girl kept moving, well only for another few moments. As quickly as she appeared, she disappeared. But instead she seemed to disappear into infinity rather than run away.

Confused and somewhat panicked Vermont tracked slowly to where her enemy disappeared. She instantly heard footsteps behind her, outflanking her. In must have been Jersey. She spun around and aimed the gun in her hand at her tracker. Connecticut.

'How in the f-' Vermont began.

Connecticut fired a paint pellet at Vermont. But quickly using initiative Vermont used the gun to shield herself, letting the paint cover the gun pointlessly. What was going on, how had Connecticut jumped around the training floor like that? She asked herself. She fired her gun at Connecticut who ducked.

Or had she? Connecticut started to duck, then just as suddenly stood upright and was hit by the paint that Vermont had fired. Again the paint showed no signs of effect, sure Connecticut was frozen but Vermont couldn't even see the paint growing over her armor. Was she hallucinating?

In only a few moments she would know her answer. She felt the floor beneath her feet move and suddenly she was swept off the ground and onto her back. Vermont looked up, winded. Connecticut was crouched over the top of her, having just kicked her out from under her own feet. Above and behind Connecticut was…Connecticut.

The one standing behind flickered and disappeared just as the one that ran into the pillar had. That was her secret. Agent Connecticut's armor enhancement was a Holographic Projector, she could project copies of herself. Immediately everything made sense, she must have looked like a real idiot from the Observation Deck. So it was time to redeem her reputation.

Vermont rocked back kicked Connecticut in the chest to throw her back. Vermont leapt up onto her feet ready to throw a few punches. In front of her, somewhere behind Connecticut were a series of fast paced running footsteps. Likely Oregon coming to help. In the spare of the moment, as if planned, Connecticut dropped to the ground leaving Vermont unpleasantly surprised.

Of course the approaching Freelancer was not Oregon, but Jersey. As he approached and Connecticut dropped Vermont felt the brutal pain of a massive fist being brought down on her cheek. Vermont fell back in pain, but landing successfully without falling onto her back as she had before.

She stumbled back and Jersey raised his gun to fire, a quick and deadly blast. But he didn't. More footsteps came approaching. Oregon ran into the gathering.

'Dakota's down!' Oregon announced.

At the sight of what was going down he immediately leapt back off the ground in an attempt to avoid enemy fire. He failed. Jersey fired. Oregon was hit. Oregon was out. Oregon had taken out Dakota and Jersey had taken out Oregon.

'No!' came a female's voice.

Vermont was certain it hadn't come from Connecticut. And she herself hadn't screamed. And Colorado was likely being an idiot up in the Observation Deck rather than down here. She turned, but only she had time to. Oklahoma fired all the paint pellets in her gun and covered Jersey's back completely in pink paint. Jersey was frozen solid, and out of the competition. Now it was only Connecticut.

Vermont was still looking at Oklahoma. When she turned towards Connecticut she heard a click. Connecticut was holding her gun up at Oklahoma. Vermont turned back to see that Oklahoma had also been shot down. Celebrating quietly Connecticut was likely grinning. Vermont lunged on her, held her in a headlock before flipping her over onto her back.

Connecticut was laughing, or giggling. To shut her up Vermont threw a punch into the girl's stomach. That certainly worked. This was more than just a game to Veronica, this was her reputation on the line. She had to prove that she was the best, no matter who it was that she hurt.

One punch, two punch, three punch. Go punch. Then she'd shove in a kick. Then another few punches. She was not finishing. She wondered what those in the Observation Deck would think, that Vermont was insane? No. Vermont was just determined. She wouldn't kill Connecticut, she would shoot her. Eventually Vermont intended to befriend Connecticut. Odd as it must appear from the outside.

Punc- Vermont threw a fist to the ground. Only, yeah, it hit the ground. It didn't hit Connecticut. It went right through Connecticut and hit the floor. How could that be? How- Oh shit.

Click.

Bam!

Vermont felt a massive cold sensation consume her whole head. It stung like a bitch. Suddenly her muscles tensed and seized up. She couldn't move any longer. Vermont was out.

'Victory Team One.'

**Mother of Invention, Mess Hall**

Wyoming had all together given up eating the roast beef that lay down at the table before him. Neither did he mind. He enjoyed having conversations with the other agents in the Mess. Here he was talking to Rhode, Nevada and Virginia. Nevada had sat on top of the tabletop. Virginia and Rhode were seated beside Wyoming at the table.

'They don't seem too bad?' Virginia asked. 'You sure?'

'I sure as hell don't mind them. Most of them are quite nice.' Rhode stated.

'Screw it if they're nice, they have to know how the ranking goes. _We_ are on top. They are nothing but fresh meat.' Nevada laughed.

'In saying that,' now it was Wyoming. 'Fresh meat has been known to cause damage.'

'Are we talking cricket, Reggie?' Nevada asked.

'We are.'

'Lame!' Virginia yelled out. 'Come on, real sports. Let's talk hunting.'

'Or let's not talk about hunting and talk about the 2158 Ashes Test. What the hell happened there, mate?' Nevada asked.

'I'm sorry, we won. You lost.'

'In 2158? We won then, Reggie.'

'No, sorry chaps. Australia won the 2157th Ashes Test.'

'I think you're mistaken mate. I think you've gotten mixed up with the 2168th Ashes Test.'

'No, no, no.' Wyoming ranted. 'Indonesia won the 2168th Ashes.'

'Oh, yes.' Nevada agreed. 'Cause Indonesia joined the Ashes back in 2102.'

Along with the agreement there was a moment of consideration in silence. The silence was followed by all the Agents looking at their feet in mourning. In that very same test match some of the players fell victim to beatings among attacks from citizens of Indonesia. Ending the silence entered Agent Florida. He approached the others on the bench.

'Florida, welcome.' Said Rhode.

'Why thank you, Agent Rhode. And might I just say I am feeling very welcome.'

'That's good. I'm glad.' Rhode laughed. 'I hope I'm not being rude or anything, but I better head off.'

'Oh no. If it's me, I'd hate to impose on you.' Florida apologized.

'No, you're not.' Virginia assured.

'Rhode, Virginia and I were supposed to help the Director complete observations of the training session from before.' Nevada informed him.

With that, they waved goodbye and exited the Mess Hall. Florida watched as they left, standing upright with his chest puffed out and his hands on his hips.

'Well aren't they nice.' Florida smiled.

He knew that the other agent with him wouldn't be able to see the smile through the ODST helmet and visor. He knew that the white Freelancer would likely be able to tell due to his body language. He turned to him.

'So yes, I am Agent Florida. Pleased to meet you, friend.' Florida introduced himself.

'I'm Reginald.' Wyoming spoke, not taking his eyes off the meal he was eating (with his helmet off).

'What's your agent name, friend?'

'I guess I'm Agent Wyoming.'

'Well then you can call me Butch, Butch Flowers.' He introduced, laughing.

'What's funny?' Wyoming asked.

'Do you have to ask? My name, that's what's funny you silly hoot.'

Wyoming shook his head, laughing. Florida wasn't such a bad dude, Wyoming was thinking – or at least that's what Florida thought he must have been thinking.

'Why Reginald, you have a peculiar accent my friend.'

'I do? I hadn't noticed.' Wyoming sarcastically said while continuing to eat, not even giving Florida that courtesy of looking at him.

'I have a certain skill, dear friend. I can pick accents from a mile away. French.'

'I'm sorry?' Wyoming asked angered, looking up from his meal.

'Have no fear, friend. It was only a joke. You are clearly Russian.'

'What?'

'South African?'

'Nope.'

'Irish?'

'Nope.'

'Chinese?'

'Do I look Chinese?' Wyoming shouted.

'No, but I'm not one to judge the appearances of others.'

Wyoming shook his head and continued eating.

'I'm bloody English.' He revealed at last.

'I knew it! That was my next guess!' Florida celebrated.

Agent Florida, Butch Flowers sat beside Wyoming at the table.

'I think we're going to be good friends.' Florida announced.

Funnily enough, Wyoming actually agreed. Florida was just the kind of companion he needed.

'I believe you may be right, old chap. You may be right.'

**Mother of Invention, Laboratory**

The Mother of Invention's Laboratory was a massively tall cylindrical building pointing straight upwards, vertically. In the center at the bottom remained the test subject. The labs had two observatory windows in two different rooms overlooking the experiment chamber from high above. In one remained The Director, The Counselor and Engineer Ashton. In the other were some of the Agents who had gathered to see what was going down.

Along one small wall of the base in the labs was a window. A hall in the Mother of Invention had a large window that showed exactly what was going on in the base level for a closer view. Currently no one was standing outside the window.

Up high with Agent Carolina was Agent Nevada, Rhode and Virginia who had just come from the Mess Hall. Agents Connecticut and Dakota had also come. All the agents here had gathered to watch The Director initiate tests on Agent Alaska's armor enhancement.

'She's got an Electricity Conductor.' Rhode revealed to Dakota, who had just asked what the purpose of the experiment.

'Yeah, it's designed to harness and harvest electrical energy and use it as either a weapon against enemies.' Nevada added. 'Or to reuse as energy for something else.'

'Where's Alaska?' Dakota asked.

'In the suit.' Carolina said.

It was true. Below on the bottom level Alaska awaited in her suit. It was hooked up to the Command Server, not even wirelessly just to ensure nothing bad would happen. Large wires were wrapped around the suit's custom gauntlets. The plan was, energy would pass through the wires and into the suits and charge up her enhancement so she could harness the electricity. It all made sense, except for one detail. Why even bother with the experiment if the Director knew there could only be a successful outcome.

'He's probably just displaying to the other Agents the power of the enhancement.' Connecticut decided.

The agents waited a good two hours before anything exciting occurred. Carolina wondered how Alaska was holding up. Dakota had gone to a vending machine and bought snacks. Nevada had made two toilet trips and Connecticut sought out Vermont and Montana so that they could watch. She failed, they didn't come back with her. It truly amazed Carolina how Connecticut could even show any admiration for Vermont when there was a needless beating that took place between the two on the training floor.

'Standby Agents.' F.I.L.S.S. warned. 'Tests to be administered shortly. Please clear the laboratory floor and make your way to observation posts.'

In the other Observation room The Director had worn a large lab coat, so had the Counselor. Ashton was in the back, her presence was not required but The Director believed her accompaniment would be helpful.

'How much electrical energy have we gathered, F.I.L.S.S?' The Director asked.

'The battery is charged to 100 percent as is ready to be released.' Announced F.I.L.S.S.

'How many vaults are we looking at, Counselor?' The Director asked.

'The battery is stable and unlikely to release discharge. It holds electric cells each with 414,000 volts.'

'Good. Begin.'

The Counselor moved himself away from his console at the laboratory towards the observation window. By the window stuck out a small microphone. The Counselor grabbed hold of it and began to speak out over the intercom.

'Agent Alaska, we are ready. Do you give the green light?' The Counselor asked.

She nodded.

The Counselor moved back to the console and typed a few keys into the computer. Then he twisted a key inserted in a keyhole on the desk and a plastic box opened up revealing a yellow button below. He pressed it twice, the second time for two more seconds than he had the first time. All the consoles in the room lit up from a dark blue to a light blue. A bright flash lit through the window.

Along the wires small electric currents visibly revealed themselves. As soon as they appeared they disappeared into the armor. With each second, Agent Alaska twitched. More and more. More and more violently. Smoke began to rise from the armor and she began to scream aloud at the top of her voice. Her words were unintelligible, but clearly extremely pained.

Sparks splashed across the base room below. Flashes of light blinding those in the Observation Deck.

'The enhancement is rejecting the pulse energy from the electricity!' The Counselor yelled at the top of his voice as sparks began to spread through the consoles.

'Shut that damn thing off!' The Director replied.

The Counselor frantically pressed at buttons but nothing did the trick. Second by second the battery decreased its percentage. With each second it lowered in one percent of capacity until it reached 97%. Immediately after hitting that it dropped twenty percent per second.

The enhancement was a success, it conducted electricity but kept it bouncing around her body rather than the armor. Pipeline or not, the enhancement was killing her.

The shocks were incredibly unstable and Alaska was having trouble even making sounds now as parts of her body began to swell and bruise. Her body would constantly heat up at unbearable temperatures before depleting a millisecond later and leaving her breathless. A hundred of these transitions a second, each left her weak and broken. Only, the shocks didn't stop. The battery may have been empty but the electricity continued to shoot through.

**Mother of Invention, Hallways**

Utah wondered what all the commotion was about. So many of the Freelancers were headed to the labs to see someone do something. Details hadn't been important. Utah was on his way escorting Georgia to the bunks, he figured he'd swing by the labs to check out what was going on. As they wandered the lights in the roof used to light the halls began to whir. They didn't dim nor brighten, but made an odd buzzing sound.

They were approaching the observatory windows, some mad flashing was coming through the glass. Bright lights. Incredible. Utah approached the glass.

'No! Sarah!' Utah screamed.

He sprinted towards the window, pressing himself against it and smashing his fists and palms against the glass. On the other side he could see Alaska, she was wired to something. Electricity coursed through her body. Her armor was fading to a whitish color. Behind him Georgia stood in shock, falling back to the wall to gain his footing. She screamed at the top of her voice, facing Utah.

A large explosion caused Alaska's helmet to fly off, cracking into several pieces as it flew. She screamed to him as he desperately beat on the glass to get inside. She coughed up blood, the redish black fluids catching fire as they left her mouth. Her skin, pale. Her eyes, a bright red.

'Sarah no! Sarah!' he screamed, crying as he desperately bashed against the glass.

The bolts stopped.

Alaska collapsed, she still was hanging up by the wires. She began to manipulate her mouth into words as blood poured from her lips. Utah, that's what she was trying to say.

Utah placed his palm against the glass.

One more flash spread across the wires and into her. Then her body collapsed. A lifless husk.

He was in shock. Quiet. Watching. Waiting.

'…no. No! Sarah! No! No! No! Sarah, come back! Sarah!'

Georgia fell back, feeling really dizzy he thought he was about to collapse. He coughed, probably vomit. He was so woozy. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He wanted to go home. Blackness was the next thing to consume him as he found himself unconscious, fainted.

Around her the agents were in panic. Carolina knew not what to do. She watched as Connecticut ran for the door holding her belly and helmet as if holding in vomit. Dakota rushed out after her. Carolina just felt light on her feet. The electrical shocks died down and all the base doors to the lower levels of the labs locked. Medical teams, trapped outside.

Project Freelancer had claimed its first casualty.

Just as the other agents had, Carolina fainted.

**-End-**


End file.
